Neither of us wanted to return to the old house.

We could afford a modest place of our own if we saved a little longer.

“Somewhere with a porch,” Jenna said.

“And good windows.”

“And a kitchen where nobody tells me what kind of mother I’m supposed to be.”

“That one’s nonnegotiable.”

She leaned into my shoulder.

For the first time, planning the future felt possible rather than reckless.