At seventy-one, I finally learned something I wish I had understood at forty.
You can love your children and still tell them no.
You can adore your grandchildren and still refuse to raise them for their parents.
You can help your family without giving them the right to consume your retirement.
You can forgive someone without living under the same roof.
And getting older does not reduce the value of your time.
If anything, it makes every remaining year more precious.
Rain tapped gently against my cottage window.
The kettle clicked off.
I poured another cup of tea.
In my old life, this hour of the evening belonged to everyone else.
Grant’s shirts.
Melissa’s dinner.
Noah’s homework.
The dog.
The dishes.
The bills.
The endless list.
Now the little cottage was silent.
