because of things I never actually asked them to fear.”
I took his hand.
“You changed some of that.”
“Some.”
“Enough to matter.”
“Not all.”
“No.”
That mattered too.
No grand self-forgiveness.
No claim everything became perfect.
Just better.
Chosen.
Visible.
He looked toward the family photograph.
“Do you ever think about the $480?”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
Seventeen days.
I had known exactly.
“Do you still keep an emergency envelope?”
“Yes.”
He looked offended.
“You are married to me.”
“And?”
“That does not reassure you financially?”
“It reassures me emotionally.”
He laughed.
“What is the envelope for now?”
“Habit.”
“How much?”
I told him.
He stared.
“That is an oddly specific number.”
“Some things stay.”
“Do you need it?”
“No.”
“Then why keep it?”
I thought.
“Because the woman who counted seventeen days deserves to know I never forgot her.”
Alessandro’s expression softened.
“Fair.”
I looked around the office.
The
