“And I understood,” she said.
August 5.
Owen born.
Later expenses.
The worst ones were after.
Not before.
After I held my son.
After I promised Corinne I would be different.
After I observed her struggle to stand from the hospital bed.
After I knew what I could lose.
I went anyway.
“I don’t know why I did it,” I whispered.
“I think you do.”
“You believed we’d still be here when you came back.”
No diagnosis.
No excuse.
Just the truth.
I believed permanence belonged to me.
Corinne would be home.
Owen would be home.
My company would be mine.
My money would be available.
My partners would complain but forgive me.
Tessa would wait.
The house would remain lit.
Everyone and everything would stay exactly where I left them until I decided to return.
“What happens now?”
Corinne’s voice softened.
“We raise Owen.”
“Together?”
“As his parents.”
