What was your favorite day this year? Not the photo. The day.
You're on the bench outside the bakery, the one where the leaves land in your coffee, and your husband asks. You open your phone and start scrolling. March, a blurry dog. June, forty pictures of the same sunset. You can tell him what every single thing looked like, and not one thing you felt.
He has his answer right away: the Tuesday the power went out. Cereal by candlelight, cards with a deck that was missing the seven of hearts. And you had forgotten that whole night.

