Not the kind where you’re alone.
The kind where your life changes direction, and you realize some people only knew how to walk beside you on the old road.
They don’t know how to follow you onto a new one.
So they don’t.
We built our life anyway.
Not all at once. Not perfectly.
Piece by piece.
Our first apartment had a kitchen so small you couldn’t open the oven and the fridge at the same time. The heater rattled like it had opinions. The bathroom door didn’t close all the way unless you lifted it slightly before turning the handle.
Hannah loved it.
“This is ours,” she said the first night, standing in the middle of the living room like it was something grand.
Continue on the next page:
