The monthly transfers.
The vacation rental.
The countless meals.
Then I smiled gently.
“Then I suppose we’ll all have to adjust.”
Christa stared at me.
I picked up my gloves.
“Have a good afternoon.”
I walked past her, opened my front door with my new key, and went inside.
I didn’t slam the door.
I simply closed it.
Through the kitchen window, I saw Christa standing on the lawn for another minute.
Then she returned to her SUV and drove away.
Slowly this time.
The next three weeks were quiet.
Owen occasionally checked on me.
Christa didn’t contact me.
I won’t pretend those weeks were easy.
Sometimes, while sitting by the window, I wondered whether I’d damaged my relationship with my son.
And worse, whether I might lose my closeness with Maya.
That frightened me more than anything.
Then one Wednesday evening, my phone rang.
