On the last ordinary morning of my marriage, I made my husband coffee in the mug that said BEST HUSBAND.I’d bought that mug eleven years ago at a gas station in Ohio, on the drive home from our honeymoon. It was cheap white ceramic with red letters, the kind of thing you buy as a joke. Brad loved it. He drank out of it every single morning. When it chipped near the handle five years ago, I tried to throw it away, and he took it out of the trash and glued it.That morning, I filled it with black coffee, no sugar, the way he liked it, and set it on the counter by the stove.
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