It’s a different anniversary from those to which she’d grown accustomed. The maturation of his absence is now complete, and every day past this will belong only to her. Not him. Certainly not some once but no longer future them. Not even to the red marks on the calendar that ticked off the first month without him. After that, despite the grieving, it got easier. Fourth of July fireworks? So last year. Christmas with his parents? Won’t miss a single, painful moment. New Year’s Eve? All her choice. Almost forgot Thanksgiving. Who’d have thought she could be so grateful in such a tiny portion of her life’s greater arc?