The Chicago wind cut through my wool coat, but the chill felt like nothing compared to the cold emptiness I carried.
For eight months, my life existed only in shades of black and gray.
I buried my husband last winter, and every day after that felt like a hollow echo.
“I brought the quarterly reports for you,” my colleague, Jessica, said. She walked beside me on the crowded sidewalk. “The client meeting starts in 20 minutes.”
“I already reviewed the numbers,” I replied. “I read the entire packet on the flight this morning.”
“I wonder if you truly feel ready for this,” she asked. “This is your first work trip since the accident.”
“I need to be ready. I refuse to hide in our empty house forever.”