In the fall of 2013, my days and nights were wonderful and simple. I would wake in the morning to find Joan standing at the table, reading the paper, and as I edged into the kitchen, she would head to the stove to make me a one-egg omelet while I made sure her things were in order for the day. I took in the mail, I handled the bills, I booked her a car if she had a dinner, I sent flowers if a friend had a birthday or a show opening at a gallery. Before I left for class, I would be sure to sit and eat with her.
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