“Somewhere this year, it stopped being just about Mike. I started picturing it. A room for Mia. A life. I never said anything. But I was subconsciously setting the table for it.”
I let the silence remain between us.
“I won’t cross a line,” he said quickly. “Keep the job. I’ll back off. We can go back to how it was.”
For one long second, I nearly agreed.
I thought about Mia’s tuition.
The mortgage.
How much easier Harold had made our lives during the worst year we’d ever lived through.
Then I realized that staying—even carefully, even with new boundaries—would keep me exactly where I’d been.
Frozen.
Borrowed.
Dependent on a life that wasn’t really mine.
“You’re not a bad man, Harold. You’re a grieving one. And I’ve been leaning so hard that I let the lines blur too.”
I took a breath.
“I can’t keep taking your help. I’m going to have to leave and follow my own path.”
Harold nodded, clearly ashamed.
He offered me a fair severance package and a strong reference.
No conditions.
No hidden strings.
I believed him.
***
I drove home with the windows down.
Mia was waiting on the porch with her stuffed rabbit clutched against her chest, her hair wild from her nap.
Rachel sat beside her.
I lowered myself onto the porch beside them.
Then, finally, I let myself cry.
Quietly.
The way I hadn’t allowed myself to cry in an entire year.
My daughter wrapped her small arms around my neck.
“I know Daddy’s not really there, Mommy. I just miss him.”
I held her tightly.
“Me too, baby,” I whispered. “Me too.”
Rachel took my hand.
And for the first time in a long time, I believed we were going to be okay.
