On the night of our twelfth anniversary, my husband drove me to a shuttered service plaza north of White Plains, told me walking home!
On the night of my twelfth wedding anniversary, my husband drove me past our exit, off the interstate, into a shuttered service plaza thirty-seven miles from our house, and told me that walking home might teach me respect. His name was Andrew Carter. Mine was Amanda Carter then, though by the end of that year…