His Late Wife
written by: Jo Gatenby
My husband, Bill, told everyone who’d listen that I was his ‘late wife.’ I’m the one who’s yelling, ‘I’m almost ready…’ ten minutes after we should have left. Looking for keys, shoes, sunglasses, cellphone… and where did I put my bloody purse?
When he chided me for running behind, I laughed and said, What’s ten minutes?
But I’m not the one who’s late today. I stir my coffee, staring at the space where he should be sitting. This morning, I decided to be early for once. He’d be shocked!
We used to come here for brunch every Sunday. Even when the kids were little, though it wasn’t as intimate with Suzie asking endless questions, and David chattering at anyone who glanced his way.
Sometimes I miss those noisy meals. Sitting here, staring at their empty chairs.
I take a sip. The café is too quiet without Bill filling it with bad puns and teasing glances.
Ten minutes was all it took. Chest pains. A doctor’s somber face. A silence that hasn’t lifted, even after six months.
The waiter hesitates near my table. He knows. He saw us here every Sunday.
Today, I ordered for two, out of habit. I push the extra cup away.
I never used to hurry; certain, a few extra minutes didn’t matter….
Now, I’d give anything to be ten minutes late. Just one more time.
- Love Bite - October 21, 2025
- His Late Wife - May 4, 2025
