stopped handing out keys simply because someone shared my last name.
I stopped cooking backup meals for adults who deliberately arrived empty-handed.
And I spent some of that money on quartz countertops, a farmhouse sink, three ferns, a ceramic planter, and a photography trip beneath an Arizona sky.
None of those things loved me back.
That wasn’t the point.
They reminded me my life didn’t exist entirely in service to people I loved.
Love could remain.
So could I.
One evening after returning from Arizona, I stood at my kitchen
