“What the hell is this?”

Dee set the bag of groceries on the hall table.

“I asked you…what is this?” Ed’s face was tomato red and he was frantically waving a cluster of paper above his head.

Dee stood dumbfounded. “Ed, what are you talki…?”

“You’re telling some newspaper about our marriage?”

It had been six weeks since Dee had pleaded with a woman she had never met for advice on her marriage, her life, her dreams, and when no response had come she had relegated her fleeting hopes to the annals of “what could have been” to lay dormant.

“Are you insane” Ed screeched. “My husband lost his job?…Thanks Dee…let the world know…I’m acting strange? Who do you think you are…writing to some..some stranger?” Ed violently crushed the papers in his fist, his teeth set in a tight grimace, jaw clenched. The letter was supposed to be a secret. Anyway she always picked up the mail, had for twenty years.

“Ed, let me explain…I was conf..”

He flung the crumpled letters onto the hardwood floor and grabbed his keys from the series of hooks on the wall. With a deliberate slam of the door, Ed was gone. The car engine roared to life in the driveway and she listened as the sound dissipated in the late afternoon air.

Dee didn’t try to follow him. Instead she picked up the crumpled remnants of her mail and walked into the kitchen, her guilt over upsetting Ed playing second to her newly piqued curiosity. She smoothed the ball of papers with her hand. There was a copy of her plea, along with a short succinct response. Amidst the intricate patterns of folds and tears she deciphered the much anticipated answer to her query .

Dear Rhapsody,

By all means pursue your dreams and don’t let hubby or anyone else get in your way! Could be Ed is threatened by your new found independence, so tell him to get off the sofa…Oh no, he read this…and give you the support you’ve given him all these years! Best wishes, I look forward to reading your work!

Fran the Answer Gal

Dee beamed. It was just the proverbial shot in the arm she had longed for. She threw up her arms and twirled around her kitchen counter.

"Hello, I'm Dee McCullen, I'm a writer." she addressed the cappucino maker. "yes, mostly romance...but I dabble in other genres..." she stated to the basket of pears. 

She felt surprisingly light, unencumbered. She felt she had been given the green light to start her life anew albeit by a few lines of copy from a stranger. She had waited a longtime to feel this way and knew exactly what she would do next.

Dee picked up the phone and dialed…