The Sketchbook Between Two Times

Seven years into our marriage, my husband pushed me down the stairs over a single word from his mistress.

The baby was gone. And I was diagnosed with terminal stomach cancer.

On the day we signed the divorce papers, I neither cried nor made a scene. I simply dug out an old sketchbook covered in dust from the storage room.

It was the very first gift he had ever given me back in high school.

When I opened the first page, a familiar line of handwriting came into view—

“Violet, I’m gonna love you for ten thousand years!”

Through tears, I grabbed a pen and viciously crossed it out.