Three years after losing my wife in a car crash, my best friend set me up on a date I didn’t want. But the moment I met her, something about her felt… hauntingly familiar.
Three years without Emma felt like a long Missouri winter road — flat, gray, endless. The kind where your radio crackles and the heater only blows on one foot.
I’d wake up, wash the same coffee mug, check twice if the stove was off, and drive to the garage where I could hide behind the smell of oil and someone else’s broken stories.
Three years without Emma felt like a long Missouri winter road.