Peter and I exchanged occasional text messages. No pressure. No promises. Just words between two people who finally knew each other’s truth.
One morning, I carried my coffee onto my own porch and watched the sun climb over the roofline.
The marriage I’d grieved had ended long before those papers arrived. I was simply the last to know.
And the woman I was becoming, quieter, steadier, and entirely my own, was someone I finally wanted to meet.
