“So I think ‘someday’ has officially become ‘probably not.’”
As soon as I said it, I remembered a conversation I’d had with Mom years ago.
I’d buy it back.
***
“Did you love it?” I’d asked her.
“The bakery?”
“Yeah.”
Mom smiled sadly. “Very much.”
“Then why sell it?”
Did you love it?
“Because I loved you more.”
I never met my father.
Mom said he was married when they met. When she became pregnant, he chose his wife.
“So he knew about me?”
“Yes.”
I loved you more.
“And he still left?”
Mom lowered her eyes. “He did.”
I stopped asking eventually.
Years passed. I got married, got divorced, and after Mom died, found myself alone in the same house she’d raised me in.
One day, Jenna asked, “You ever think about leaving?”
He chose his wife.
“The house?”
“Everything. Starting over somewhere else.”
“Sure.”
“What stopped you?”
I shrugged. “Starting over seemed exhausting.”
But enough nostalgia. That was all years ago, and by forty, I’d stopped expecting my life to suddenly change.
Starting over somewhere else.
***
