Before we fell for each other, we were smitten with the wall art in Coffee Couples, the café you called a fresco fusion of Noah’s Ark and Starbucks. Our first view left us breathless with admiration and laughter. I liked the narwhals because neither had a bull’s tusk, and arctic whales need a hot drink hanging from their flippers. Their loving smiles charmed me. Your favorite was the cats, suspended from a tree by their tails, paws interlocked as they sipped each other's cups. You said the tom was probably malesplaining something to the female, and I coughed my drink all over our blouses. Later, you tossed our clothes into your washer and me into your bed.

Three years after our last morning together, I’m at the café. There’s a word for this, but it’s not anniversary. Eduardo, whom you named the world’s most talented and obscure artist, asks how I’m doing, and I answer with a shrug. He nods, saying he’ll bring your drink, a lavender latte. Pointing to his latest piece, I manage a thumbs-up and open the letter, hoping for a trace of your scent.

That morning in Oregon, I cried, Never again. As we held each other, just before you swallowed the prescription, you made me promise—in three years, I would not be alone. You squeezed my hand until I agreed, and gave me the letters. I would read one each year, and the first was shattering. It lamented how hard it must be for me. You described it so vividly, as if things were reversed, and you’d lost me. After shredding it, I went down for a week. The second was uplifting—a reflection on our decade-long relationship and travels, killer whales in Alaska, and blue-footed boobies on the Galápagos. I read this often.

The third letter, your last, is short. You remind me to take the picture and post it in my photoblog to complete this. You thank me for my love, your most precious possession.

Taking a breath, I look toward the entrance, and my fiancé is waiting. He smiles, and I point to the chair next to me. As he sits, I frame his face with the narwhal couple, large in the background.