Dear Betty:

Today I went to the Rite-Aid to pick up a prescription. I won't tell you for what because you always thought illness was boring. "Skip the details, Kate."

So I'll skip them.

Lentil soup was on sale. The kind we used to heat up and drink in my little garden. So I stood in line, the weight of the cans finally forcing me to put the basket down. The line was long, and there was a single clerk there who hadn't been trained on the register. So I picked up a People magazine to pass the time. I don't know half their names, but I like the inspirational stories.

And then I saw Him in the magazine. "The ratfucking bastard," you liked to say. How did you manage to be a corporate wife with that salty tongue, Betty? What gave you the gumption? Roy--the ratfucking bastard---was always hissing at me to keep quiet, not rock the boat, shut up. I guess that was the difference between you and me.

Then I saw Her. Roy's....new wife. The line moved forward, and I moved with it, but I was really in another world, reading this chirpy story about "the CEO and his fabulous family...." And a picture of Roy beaming at Elizabitch, as you called her, and her just barely rounded tummy.

The story went on to talk about Roy and his new career as a clean energy baron, how he was becoming the Bill Gates of power, how before he came West, he'd revolutionized IronTek in Pittsburgh. I looked in vain for my face, my name. Roy never mentioned me, so neither did the reporter.

30 years of marriage, erased.

I wanted to die.

And then, when I got to the register, I discovered I'd forgotten my purse.

I wished I could have vanished on the spot.

And soon I will.

I miss you so much.

Kate