The Summer Without You Link

English 101: Creative Nonfiction Date: April 14, 2026

The most disorienting discovery of that summer was that my body continued to function. My heart pumped. My lungs filled. My fingers typed emails and turned doorknobs. This felt like a betrayal. How could cells divide and nails grow in a world where you did not exist?

On the last day of summer, I ate one of your tomatoes. It was mealy and too ripe. But I salted it anyway. I ate it standing at the kitchen counter, looking out the window at the empty porch swing, and I did not feel better. I did not feel healed.

Rescue came from a place I did not expect: not from friends (who offered casseroles and clichés), not from time (which moved like molasses), but from a single, feral cat. A mangy orange tabby began appearing on the back steps in late July. It had no collar and one torn ear. You would have hated it. You were a dog person, loyal and uncomplicated.