I was alone, always alone now, and when the doorbell rang I went to answer it. I’d been expecting him but only found the emptiness of the dark night outside. Just the empty pathway leading to the empty street, the yellow streetlight, the smell and feel of cold air. I walked down the path. He had come to tell me that he was sorry. He’d thought it over. I’d been right. And of course I would forgive him. I stood there and waited, waited. Then I turned and walked back toward the door. The doorbell had really rung, hadn’t it?
Eliza Mimski is a retired teacher living and writing in San Francisco.