By Toby Tucker Hecht

The morning tangle of the duvet between both our legs.

The oval depression in the sofa cushion where you used to sit.

The coffee mug with a rim chip that cut your lip, but you wouldn’t throw out.

The lineup of shirts in the closet, in different colors, all facing in the same direction.

The kalamata olives that you kept on the second shelf of the refrigerator.

The shoes lined up precisely inside the front door.

The laughing that started as a soft chuckle and ended in raucous hysterics.

The door that opened at seven o’clock with the shout, “I’m home.” 

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Toby Tucker Hecht is a writer and scientist who lives and works in Bethesda, Maryland. At least forty of her stories have been published either in print or in online literary journals. A native New Yorker with a rather traditional life, she writes fiction to explore more exciting lives than her own. She is now working on a collection of short stories, and a series of linked short stories.