Margaret Doyle — The House They Thought Was Theirs

That knowledge would stay with me wherever I lived, whatever I earned, and whoever approved.

PART 33

A year after the divorce, I returned to Lincoln Park to meet Lucia for lunch.

We walked past the old condo on our way to the restaurant.

Its windows were framed with bright curtains, and a child’s paper snowflake hung in the front window.

For a moment I stopped.

“Do you miss it?” Lucia asked.

I considered the question seriously.