Her Silk Scarf My Car Crash
Language: en
At two in the morning, while a tired ER resident was looping black thread through the split skin on my forehead, my husband, Luke, updated his Instagram. The photo showed his colleague, Lexie, slouched in the passenger seat of his car, cradling a warm paper cup. His caption was dripping with mock-exasperation and cheap affection: “Chauffeur duty, round twenty. Too drunk to remember where she parked. I swear I don't know what to do with her.” It had been posted at one-thirty. Exactly when my sedan was crumpled on the shoulder of the dark interstate, thirty miles outside the city, and I…