“Me too.”

We kept folding.

There was no dramatic absolution, only the quiet recognition that we were both still here and could keep choosing better ways to live.

PART 18

A year after the morning at the bus stop, the maple leaves turned red again.

Chloe came down the porch steps carefully, carrying a folder of papers in one hand.

Oliver, now an energetic little boy, sat beside me in a stroller, busy trying to remove one of his shoes.

“Don’t let him throw that,” Chloe warned, laughing.