The Home That Stayed (part 2)
The Room That Kept Every Version of Me I’m cleaning out my room. I thought all traces of us had been removed when you left. Instead, I found myself surrounded by memories. Not just of the love I lost recently, but of a marriage I once believed would last forever. It’s funny. When I think about my marriage now, I don’t think forever . Maybe that’s what time does. Maybe it’s because I experienced another kind of love afterward—one so different that it changed the way I understood love altogether. I won’t tell every detail. Every love deserves its own chapter. When I first moved into this house, it was my husband, our oldest son, and me. Newly married. Still carrying the grief of losing someone incredibly important to both of us just a year before. I was young enough to believe I knew exactly what life would become. I had already written the ending in my head. This room watched little hands crawl into bed in the middle of the night asking for a slumber party. It watched me hold fev...
