ading, and the ache in my chest was a dull reminder of my narrow esc

d. My own smaller, cozier place downtown was sold, the profits absorbed into our "

ate, cleaned by the service she employed. It felt less like a hom

c eggs. I decided to make myself an omelet, a simple, grounding act. As I cracked the eggs into a bowl, my eyes fell on the mail Sarah's as

gain. I already knew what it said. I walked over to my briefcase in the entryway and slipped th

he sprawling living room. The furniture was sleek and minimalist, all sharp angles and

nced to both our phones. A date three weeks from now was circled in a

ead it would have a week ago. Now, it just

h soil and sawdust, building something real, something that mattered. Not for her, not for our families, but for me. The thought w