One afternoon, I found our old anniversary cards in a kitchen drawer.

The messages were sincere.

I did not believe the entire marriage had been a performance.

We had loved each other in real ways, shared hard seasons, and built a home together.

That history deserved acknowledgment, even if it could no longer dictate my future.

Helen called often, but never to pressure me.

We talked about books, weather, and her garden.

Occasionally she gave me updates about Connor, always asking first whether I wanted to hear them.