Three Years of Marriage, Less Than One Call From His First Love

The night of our third wedding anniversary, Stan James left me in the storm at an abandoned tollbooth so he could go pick up his first love. I clutched his sleeve and begged him not to go. He pried my fingers off. "She can't get by without me right now. Don't compare yourself to her." Forty minutes later, a runaway truck crashed into the tollbooth. I woke from the coma remembering my parents, remembering my friends, remembering all twenty-eight years of my life.