In 2009, on a vacation to Iceland,
my husband of seven years quietly slipped off his wedding ring
and said the words no wife wants to hear.
I don’t remember much if anything from that trip.
I don’t have a single picture.
I only have a vague recollection of driving around and around a circular road,
my hands reaching to cover my ears so I couldn’t hear myself scream.
How do you remember what trauma takes away?
In 2019, I went back to Iceland to recover what what was mine.
The photos I didn't take.