I was forty-six.
I knew which floorboard creaked.
I had a dentist.
People talk about starting over as though inspirational music begins playing in the background.
Mostly, it involves packing tape.
Colorado didn’t immediately feel like freedom.
Our rental was smaller because we refused to buy before learning the area.
The moving truck arrived two days late.
During my first week, I got lost twice inside the Aurora hospital complex.
One evening, Mark was away for work, and I ate grocery-store rotisserie chicken straight from the plastic container while sitting between unopened boxes.
I called him.
“You okay?”
“No.”
A pause.
“Want me to come home?”
That helped more than any speech about fresh starts could have.
“No. Finish what you went there to do.”
“You sure?”
“Yes. But if you ever suggest moving again, I’m changing the locks.”
“Fair.”
Back in Ohio, Mark’s absence revealed itself one inconvenience at a time.
