“You sound exhausted,” I murmured. “Are you okay?”
“I am,” he said. “But I’ll be home before the kids finish arguing.”
I hesitated. “Okay. Just don’t take too long.”
“I won’t. Tell them I’m on my way.”
“I will.”
“And hey,” he added softly, “thanks for waiting.”
“Always.”
“Save me a plate.”
“I will. Hurry home.”
That was the last time I ever heard my husband’s voice.
After we hung up, I tried to keep the evening normal. I told the kids their dad was just stopping at the store. I reheated his plate, covered it with foil, and set it aside the way I always did when he ran late.
An hour passed. Then two.
