loved.
Then I thought about what came after.
The moving truck.
The receipts.
The courtroom.
This small apartment.
My peace.
I was still sad about Michael sometimes. He was my son. That kind of love does not vanish.
But I was not sorry.
Because here, surrounded by things I had chosen and a life I had reclaimed, I had found the woman I used to be.
She had not continue reading …
