And there were moments when a sharp voice in a grocery store could make me flinch before I reminded myself where I was.

But I had people I could call, work that mattered, and the right to decide what tomorrow looked like.

When we returned to the cabin, I prepared dinner while Lena put on music.

She teased me for measuring the pasta water, and I teased her for burning the garlic bread.

We laughed until our eyes watered.

Later I stood at the window, looking at the dark hillside, and thought about the woman who had entered the elevator with a single old suitcase.

She’d been frightened, angry, and uncertain about nearly everything.

I wished I could tell her that she didn’t have to become fearless to begin again.

She only had to keep walking.

I took a photograph of the mountain view and saved it in a folder on my phone labeled Places I’ve Chosen.

It was the first picture inside.

There would be others.