Forgotten
A Novel
One
No two ways about it. Dying was a bitch. There would always be too many important things—good things—left undone.
Madeline Williams wept for all the books she’d never read, all the music she’d never hear, all the sunsets she’d never see. The grandchildren she’d never hold. On a bad day, she made lists of all the nevers.
Today had been a particularly bad day.
She shifted her tired shoulders and eased her head back upon the pillows she’d stacked behind her on the bed she’d slept in almost every night for the past twenty-nine years. It was just past four on a Tuesday afternoon, but already her eyes were closing in spite of her wanting to stay awake long enough to watch the sun drift down behind the row of evergreens that ran along the far edge of her property. She remembered the day her ex-husband, Greg, planted them the year they moved into this sweet Cape Cod on Higham Road. They’d put in gardens and shrubs and had taken such joy in the shared work. But things had changed over the past decade, and when he left her, he left for good, leaving behin ...
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