I had chosen to keep them all.

“That’s a lot of life,” she said.

“It is.”

After they left, I washed the dishes and put my favorite mug beside the sink.

The house was quiet, but not empty.

Somewhere outside a sparrow tapped at the birdhouse.

Four months after Roger had first walked out, I had opened my front door to find him standing there with suitcases and golf clubs, certain the life he’d discarded would be waiting in its old position.

My smile had surprised him.