We were laughing because the photographer had asked us to look like successful business owners, and we knew we could barely afford printer paper.

I held the photo for a long time.

I didn’t regret every day of my marriage.

That surprised me.

I could mourn what had been good and still be certain I needed to leave.

I placed the photograph inside an album and wrote the year beneath it.

Then I opened my laptop and looked at the next month’s project schedule.

We were bidding on a modest redevelopment contract, the kind Crestview used to rely on before Mark became obsessed with being seen at expensive dinners with investors.