Because she was right.
I’d built everything around my husband.
His schedule.
His career moves.
His preferences at dinner.
Somewhere along the way, I’d stopped being Eleanor and started being Marcus’s wife.
And now that title had no job description.
Chloe called that night. Her voice was steadier than mine.
“Mom, Aunty Diane told me. Go on the cruise. Please. I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore.”
“Sweetheart, I’m fine.”
“You’re not. And that’s okay. But go.”
So I packed. I folded sweaters I hadn’t worn in years and tucked away the questions I couldn’t stop asking.
At the terminal, I stood at the gangway and made myself a quiet promise.
No more why. No more Marcus. Seven days of just being Eleanor again, whoever that was.
I didn’t know then that the answer I’d stopped chasing was already on board, waiting for me.
