My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

red ink that had been sitting on the sideboard. They were all addressed to Ben, but they had my home address printed on them in cold, computer-generated type.

I walked over to the kitchen wood stove, opened the iron door, and tossed them inside one by one. The dry paper caught immediately, the red ink curling into black ash as the flames consumed the continue reading …