I stepped off carrying the same blue suitcase.
But I was not the same woman who had boarded it.
Mrs. Mary was waiting near the terminal.
She hugged me before I could say anything.
“You look different.”
“I feel different.”
She laughed.
“What are you going to do now?”
I looked toward the city.
Then toward the road leading home.
“I think I’m going to sell the house.”
Mary raised an eyebrow.
“The house?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure?”
I nodded.
“Ernest and I built it together. I don’t want it to become a battlefield.”
“And where will you live?”
I smiled.
“Somewhere with a porch.”
Mary laughed.
“Of course.”
“And maybe a garden.”
“Of course.”
“And a guest room.”
She looked at me suspiciously.
“Why?”
“So my son can visit.”
Her expression softened.
“But only when I invite him.”
We both laughed.
Three weeks later, the old house was sold.
The money went into an account with only my name on it.
I bought a small white cottage near the water.
There was a porch.
A garden.
Two rocking chairs.
And a little corner where I placed Ernest’s photograph.
I didn’t replace him.
I made room for him.
One Sunday afternoon, there was a knock on the door.
I knew who it was before I opened it.
Austin stood there alone.
No sunglasses.
No expensive shirt.
No demanding voice.
Just my son.
He held a small box.
“Can I come in?”
I looked at him.
Then stepped aside.
He placed the box on the table.
Inside was my wedding earrings.
The ones I had sold years ago to pay for Ernest’s medicine.
I stared at them.
“Where did you get these?”
“I bought them back.”
My eyes filled with tears.
“I know they aren’t the same.”
“No,” I whispered.
“They’re not.”
Austin nodded.
“I can’t give you back the years.”
“No.”
“I can’t erase what I did.”
