Not once in 15 years.
No flowers. No cards. No birthday necklace tucked into a velvet box. No anniversary dinner at the kind of place where waiters folded napkins over your lap and called you Ma’am.
Robert never bought me gifts.
« Flowers die, » he always said.
« Cards get tossed. »
« Gifts are money leaving the house. »
He said it so often that, after a while, I started saying it with him in my head before he even opened his mouth.
Still, on the morning of my 35th birthday, I stood in our bedroom wearing my good navy dress and watching Robert knot his tie with shaking fingers.
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