do anything with these yourself.”
So I didn’t.
Professionals handled what needed to be handled.
And I moved forward.
My first apartment after the divorce had one bedroom.
Most of the furniture was secondhand.
My kitchen table cost forty dollars.
I loved every inch of it.
Nobody criticized the way I organized the cabinets.
Nobody asked why I had spent twelve dollars on flowers.
Nobody reviewed my credit card purchases.
For the first time in years, silence felt peaceful instead of lonely.
I worked.
Saved.
Accepted another promotion.
Eventually, I
