I stood and walked to the window because sitting made me feel trapped. Down below, hospital employees hurried through the rain with jackets over their heads and bags tucked under their arms. Everyone was going somewhere. Everyone had a door to open.
I had spent a year believing my life after Connor was a rebuilding. I had bought plants for my apartment. I had taken weekend hikes. I had learned how to sleep diagonally across a bed without apologizing for taking up space. I had become myself again in small, quiet ways.
