I said goodbye to my husband six months ago, then heard his voice in a grocery store aisle, complaining about the price of canned fruit like nothing had ever happened. He stood three shelves away with the same silver hair, the same old scar, the same crooked finger I had held for forty-one years. When I called his name, he looked at me like I was a stranger and said, “My name is Daniel.” So I followed him, and the house he went home to made my entire marriage feel like a room where the floor had quietly disappeared.