I looked through the windshield at the road ahead.

The old Buick ran smoothly.

Our house waited in Canton.

The bills were manageable.

The children’s future wasn’t arranged around a stranger’s expectations.

For the first time in a long while, I felt no need to imagine a more impressive life.

I was content with the one we were building.

When we reached home, Harry woke.

He carried his backpack inside.

Then stopped on the porch.