Six unfolded pieces of paper on his desk. Each a different color, each with a different handwritten message, each message more comforting than the last.
He found the scraps of paper hidden in various spots. The first peeked out of his sport jacket pocket, the second waited on his dashboard, the third hid in his briefcase. The rest ambushed him as the day wore on.
His wife knew he’d been having a rough time at work, and this was her response.
Did she know it would brighten his otherwise miserable week?
Of course, she did. That’s why he married her.
The Weekday One Hundred 