Karen stepped out of the car.
“Oh,” she whispered.
She looked toward the city.
“I haven’t been here since that night.”
“Neither have I.”
She turned toward me.
For a moment, we stood quietly beside the railing.
Then I took her hand.
“Karen, do you remember what you told me in the diner?”
She smiled.
“That I wanted a bookstore?”
“You also told me you didn’t know where your life was going.”
She looked down at our hands.
“I remember.”
“You thought you’d lost twenty-two years of your life.”
“I did lose something.”
I nodded.
“Yes. You lost a marriage you believed in. You lost the future you thought you were going to have. And I know there are still days when that hurts.”
She looked at me, her eyes shining.
“But you didn’t lose yourself,” I continued. “You found the courage to start again. You built something beautiful. You taught me that starting over isn’t the same as starting from nothing.”
