If I ever have a husband, I'll want him whimsical and weak. He'll die young from food poisoning after eating his usual dish at our usual table in the back of Chang's, where the lights are slightly dimmer and we're closer to the kitchen.
In remembrance, I'll start a foundation to find the cure for some macabre disease. The foundation will be his Christian name followed by a question mark, and it'll make him sound alive.
I'll never cry for the loss of him.
I'll publish his memoir. It will be pure fiction.
I'll fix this later.
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