to me.
PART 7 — THE LIGHT THAT BELONGED TO ME
The theater was two blocks from Northline’s office.
At the intersection, the signal turned red.
In my old life, every delay had been an invitation to check email, review a report, or solve a crisis before anyone else noticed it existed.
That evening, I simply stood on the sidewalk.
Across the street, a flower shop was closing.
An employee carried a bucket of unsold white lisianthus toward the door.
When the light changed, I did not follow the crowd.
I
