“What is that?”
“A decision.”
“That sounds dramatic.”
“It might be slightly dramatic.”
Inside were documents for a small condominium in Rogers Park.
“What am I looking at?”
“An investment property.”
“You bought a condo?”
“Not yet.”
“I made an offer.”
“With what money?”
“My money.”
“I’ve been saving more than I realized.”
I glanced through the documents. No money from me. No borrowing against our home.
“You want to be a landlord?”
“I want to build something that is mine.”
He immediately added, “Not because what we have isn’t ours emotionally.”
“Good recovery.”
“I’ve been practicing.”
“I think I needed to prove I could create security without taking yours.”
“I’m proud of you.”
Michael looked away. Then he looked back.
“Thank you.”
The following spring, on our fourth wedding anniversary, we returned to the restaurant where I’d been seventy minutes late the year before. Michael walked in six minutes late.
