to Arizona.
We photographed red rocks at sunrise, ate terrible roadside pie outside Sedona, and spent an afternoon cheerfully debating whether a cactus looked dignified or annoyed.
I sent David pictures.
He replied:
Looks incredible, Mom. Have fun.
No request followed.
I stared at the message longer than necessary.
It felt ordinary.
That was exactly why I loved it.
Before all this, I believed being a good mother meant remaining endlessly available.
I thought generosity proved love and mistook silence for peace because silence was easier than disappointing people.
But
