Then I sat there in the dark and the rain and waited for my son.
My name is Carol. I’m fifty-six years old.
I’ve been married to Mark Delaney for thirty-one years.
Until Thursday night, I would have told you it was a good marriage. Not perfect. Nobody’s is. But good. We had a house on Sycamore Drive with a wraparound porch and a maple tree in the front yard. We had a son we loved more than anything. We had Sunday dinners and Friday movie nights and a camper we took to Lake Erie every August.
We had my father’s company.
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