Four years in, it hurt to hold the things I loved about C alongside everything that had soured between us. But these things stubbornly remained: His wit. His loyalty. His belly laugh. His razor vision. One of my favorite things about being married to C was the company of his gaze. The things he noticed. His deep love for the ridiculous humans of this world. That’s why I wanted to text him about the selfie takers, and the couple on their awkward date. Some part of me loved his rough exterior—his many tats, his gruff candor, his quick temper—because it made his interior seem like a gentleness meant only for me. Me and shih tzus. Me and the characters in his novels. Even when things between us were falling apart, I always craved that feeling of wandering through the world with him—hearing what he noticed, seeing what he saw.