This morning, Chris and I were sitting at the farm table, each of us eating breakfast. He was talking about racehorses, trying to decide if the answer to some trivia question was Seabiscuit or not, it couldn't be Secretariat, or maybe it was vice versa. I reached my hand across the table. He kept talking, but he took my hand, and we each sat there for a few minutes as he talked. "I know who you are," I said.
"Who am I?"
"You're Chris. I believe you."
"Daphne is Daphne. Yes, she is Daphne. And this..." I looked around. "I'm home. This is our house. I'm home."