Somehow, I had transformed into a spirit, able to drift anywhere.

Just this morning, I felt fine. I even exchanged a few words with Ethan Harrison.

He had an international conference today, and his flight was scheduled for noon.

So, I got up at seven in the morning to make him breakfast.

For someone who seemed so indifferent, Ethan had quite the picky taste.

The toast needed to be slightly charred, the milk heated precisely to 80 degrees.

As my son, Tyler, liked to say, "Mom, you've spoiled Dad's taste."

I didn't argue with that. After all, after caring for him so meticulously for over twenty, almost thirty years, it all became routine.