She turned to the gift. It sat on the stained laminate table where every night for a lifetime she’d set a light supper for family. Cold cuts, cheese, and sliced bread for sandwiches. A little mustard and mayo. Old Spice still lingered in the air and suddenly it was all around her: the past, coming in waves and waves as tears rolled down her cheeks. I need to leave, she thought, and never return. The gift would stay where it should, in the past with all those hurt feelings and stubborn silences. But the periwinkle ribbon was pretty and just the color of Jim’s eyes and so she removed it from the present and tucked it into her purse.