They stood in front of a Ferris wheel, Peter's arm slung over her shoulder, Kirsten flashing a peace sign.
I knew that place.
In my past life, I'd suggested it more times than I could count. Let's go to the amusement park, I'd say.
Every time, she turned me down. Too crowded. Too noisy.
So I stopped asking.
Turns out she didn't hate amusement parks.
She just didn't want to go with me.
Another photo was taken at Sal's Noodle Bar.
A bowl of noodles sat in front of her, another in front of Peter, both of them holding up their chopsticks for the camera.
I remembered clearly.
She didn't like noodles.
But Peter did.
Someone had commented under the photo: Boyfriend??
She'd replied with a blushing emoji.
In our past life, we were married for fifty years. Our son and daughter grew up, and every holiday the whole family sat around the same table for dinner.
It looked picture-perfect.
But on her social media, there was never a single photo of me.
Not one.
I turned off my phone and lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling.
Memories flooded in again, one after another.
She'd washed my clothes, cooked my meals, carried our children.