whether our marriage could become healthier than the marriage that brought us here.
And whether both of us were willing to build it.
The bedroom door opened softly.
Rowan stood there in sweatpants and an old university shirt.
“You okay?”
I nodded.
Then shook my head.
Then laughed.
“I have no idea.”
He moved closer.
“Your mom’s letter?”
“Yes.”
He sat on the rug instead of beside me.
Giving me space.
That small choice mattered.
“What did she say?”
“Everything.”
“Useful.”
“Very.”
I looked at him.
“Do you want to
