Funny. Things you say these days. No filter. Just out with it. Really speaking your mind, as if nothing else mattered, but your opinion, the wife said. I remember when you were more careful with words. More articulate. Now you’re just an old dog barking at cars as they drive by, she held his hand.

He looked at her. This companion of fifty-five years stared at her. The old man no longer felt her words. His wife’s love was no longer important to him. As much as she tried, the grandmother could no longer comfort him. At seventy-five, he wanted to move on.

You never settled, did you? she asked. The house, kids, and career were never enough. You’ve always wanted something else. Something out there, she pointed out to the open sky. Was I ever good enough for you?

The retired attorney got up and poured himself a drink. A whiskey. Wild Turkey. He always liked the bird on the bottle. The old man pointed the bottle at his wife. She shook her head, no. He sat down on the porch swing. Rocked slowly back and forth. At one time, he said. I was in love with you. I really felt something in my heart, he smiled. And the kids came along. I was proud of both of them. Their accomplishments.  But now I feel hollow inside. Nothing is there anymore. No love. No pride. I just want to die.

Don’t say that. You must never say that. We’re here as long as God intends us to be here and not a second less or longer, she scolded.

Yes. You’re right, he downed the whiskey and placed the bottle under his arm. The old man walked down to the grass. He tipped his fedora to his wife. See you around, kid. I’ll see you around.

And off he walked. Almost marching. She watched until he got to the street corner and turned. The wife did not call out for him. She did not contact the police. She just let him be.