know whether you still see a future for us.”
I thought carefully before answering.
“I see possibilities. I don’t have guarantees.”
He nodded.
“That’s fair.”
I looked at the house behind us.
We had lived there for nearly twenty years.
It held Emma’s childhood drawings, the marks on the doorframe showing how tall she had grown, and photographs from birthdays and holidays. It held memories of difficult years and beautiful ones.
Leaving would mean grieving all of that.
Staying would mean accepting that our future would be built on a
