I Lost Summer and Everything With Her

My credit card was stolen.

I called the police.

I was sitting at the police station, halfway through giving a statement.

I saw my husband, who was supposed to be away on a business trip, and his first love, blushing, following close behind him.

“Claire Mitchell, are you wasting police resources like this?”

My husband slammed the letter of apology on the table: “Sign it now! I don’t have time to argue with you.”

I looked at the amount displayed on the letter of apology—three years’ salary for my husband—and smiled.

“You want me to sign it?”