They married despite all that but there were no children. He sighed privately. She wept once, openly. Then they rallied, designing a beautiful little rose garden behind their Morningside Heights brownstone. White roses only, she said, they’ll glow at night. He misted the bushes lightly; she arranged heavy bouquets.
At cocktail parties, she took to declaring that the roses were really like children to them. He, to displaying the scratches.
Part II is here.
Image: A black-and-white version of Takashi Hososhima's.