Don patted Patricia, the nice lady, as she cooked supper. She turned around. “Something you want, dear? Go sit down.”
He sat with the children who called him Dad instead of Don. Patricia poured what she called his favorite stew on the plate. It smelled good, tasted good. What a nice lady.
That night in bed, Don patted Patricia the nice lady once again. She rolled over into his arms, tears flowing from her eyes. She barely got it out. “I love you, Don.” Such a nice lady to say that to him as he went to sleep dreaming nothing.