And my children reminded me, through the things they were afraid of losing, why I needed to stop.

At the rehearsal dinner, I left a blue folder beside Eleanor’s plate.

Inside were records she’d expected me never to examine.

The wedding ended.

Oliver’s plan failed.

Our house remained ours.

But the most important change didn’t happen at the bistro.

It happened afterward, in ordinary moments when I began trusting myself to make decisions again.

I walked inside.

The floral tablecloth lay neatly across our kitchen table.