The Seat They Stole From My Son’s Mother

And one of the reservation cards lay torn beneath a chair.

I could still read the name.

**Sarah Evans.**

My name.

Torn neatly in half.

And sitting in my place was Chloe.

My ex-husband’s twenty-eight-year-old wife.

She wore a cobalt-blue designer dress and the kind of smile people practice in mirrors.

Beside her sat David.

My ex-husband.