Months passed. My body adjusted. My strength returned. Life resumed in ways that felt almost unfamiliar.
Elias and I still meet for coffee. We talk about books and weather and nothing at all. Some wounds do not close neatly, but they stop bleeding.
I do not know if forgiveness is the right word. What I know is this. People are not defined only by their worst moments. Sometimes they are defined by what they do next, and by how long they are willing to show up when no one is watching.
Three mornings a week became memories instead of appointments.
And loneliness, once quiet and constant, finally loosened its grip.
