Don’t make trouble.
Don’t take it personally.
They’re busy.
Families make compromises.
I closed the laptop.
I did not reply.
The next morning, I woke at six out of habit.
My body waited for footsteps overhead.
There were none.
I waited for the sound of a bedroom door opening.
Nothing.
Then I remembered.
I was alone.
And for the first time in decades, I could choose what happened next.
I walked to a café three blocks away.
I ate eggs outside beneath a striped umbrella.
After breakfast, I wandered through an art market and bought a ridiculous turquoise scarf.
At eleven, Linda called.
“Are you busy?”
“I’m buying things I don’t need.”
“Excellent. You’re recovering beautifully.”
We had lunch.
Afterward, she drove me to a neighborhood in north Scottsdale I had passed hundreds of times but never entered.
