One evening, Jonah found me reviewing scholarship applications at the kitchen table.
He stopped in the doorway.
“You belong here,” he said.
“I know.”
“I should have trusted you.”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
“I’ll never manage you again.”
I looked up from the papers.
“You don’t get to promise that once. You prove it every day.”
He nodded.
“Then I will prove it every day.”
Owen appeared in the doorway.
“Dinner, or are we doing emotional accountability all night?”
For the first time in months, I laughed.
I didn’t forgive Jonah overnight.
The first time I married him, fear had cornered me into it.
The second time I chose him, I did it standing firmly in the center of my own life.
