Three months after my wife went missing in a skiing accident, I saw her in a bar.
She was leaning against her childhood friend’s shoulder, laughing without a care. “Thank goodness you came up with this plan. I’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be free.”
Her close friends and companions raised glass after glass to her, asking when she planned to show herself again.
She lowered her eyes and thought for a moment. “A week from now. I’ll show up once she’s gone completely mad looking for me.”
I stood in the shadows, watching her revel in her freedom. Then I called a friend who worked at the household registration office.
