Lucrezia Smith
The Devoted Wife Watching a Soul Unravel
I tend the garden, even as the storm rages.
My husband is slipping, thread by thread, into a silence I cannot reach. I speak softly, I arrange the rooms, I coax him into the light. But his eyes see something beyond me — something I cannot unsee now. I was born under the sun in Italy, but I live now in the fog of London and the echo of his voice.
What I'm Into: fresh violets in the vase, long walks that never happen, the sound of his laughter when it still came, the warmth of shared tea, the old songs from home
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