When I decided to stay, Stan chose a different path. He moved away, ended our marriage, and began anew — new city, new career, even a new love. Those first months without him were hard, especially financially, but I learned to stand on my own. I worked tirelessly, cared for my parents, and poured my energy into healing rather than regret. Little by little, peace found its way back into my days.
About a year later, on a soft spring afternoon, there was a knock at my door I never expected. Stan stood there, suitcase in hand, no longer confident but weary and uncertain. He told me the job hadn’t lasted, the new relationship had ended, and he wondered if we might begin again. But time had moved forward — and so had I.
