I Drove Three Hours To Surprise My Mother—Then I Saw My Husband’s Car

and sworn creatively for five minutes straight.

It was my husband’s car. His beloved Audi A6 that he washed every Sunday and wouldn’t let me eat in because of crumbs.

The problem—the big, glaring, impossible-to-ignore problem—was that my husband was supposed to be in Chicago. I’d packed his suitcase myself the day before. Folded his shirts the way he continue reading …