after our divorce, Lily and I sat on my porch one late-summer afternoon, drinking iced tea. She asked what I would change if I could relive everything. Would I examine the bank statements sooner, confront Daniel or Rachel earlier, fight harder, or leave first? I considered all of it.
“I would trust myself sooner.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s a lot.”
She smiled while I watched a car turn at the end of our street.
For twenty-seven years, endurance had defined love for me: staying, helping, forgiving ordinary mistakes, and weathering difficult
