First message
Divorcing my ex-wife was, objectively speaking, one of the smartest decisions I’d ever made.
At least, that’s what I told myself five years ago.
We’d married young. Too young, maybe. We wanted careers, independence, the chance to figure out who we were outside of each other. So I packed my life into a few boxes, moved to New York, became the lawyer I’d always wanted to be…
…and somehow never stopped coming home.
The town never questioned where I’d stay.
Neither did I.
I still had the garage code.
My favorite coffee mug was still in the cabinet.
My side of the bed somehow remained… my side.
The dog barreled toward me the second I stepped through the front door, nearly knocking my suitcase over.
I laughed, scratching behind his ears.
“I missed you too, buddy.”
Then I glanced toward the kitchen.
“…I’m home.”
The words slipped out before I could stop them.