Dear Writer,

My husband and my children, they had already left. I told them I was waiting for one last letter from you, so I would stay one more night in our old home, and then, around ten in the morning, I would retrieve the mail from our local post. I hoped it would come from you. But when I went, there was nothing. You know this because you did not write to me on that day. You know this because you chose not to write to me, you chose to write to someone else, or maybe, to no one at all.

I tried to be angry with you. I tried to get swollen up and sore inside about how I missed the opportunity to get to the promised land with my family, so we would arrive all together, taste everything for the first time as a whole. I was upset about this. I was disappointed in myself, I was a...

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