I walked to my office in the back of the restaurant—a small but cozy space with an old desk, shelves full of cookbooks and recipes, and photos on the walls. Photos of the restaurant opening. Of special events. Of my team.
And yes, there were some of Michael, too.
Michael graduating from college. Michael at his wedding. Michael holding a newborn Chloe.
I picked up one of the photographs, the one from his graduation. His smile was huge, proud. I was beside him, smiling too, my hands on his shoulders. We looked happy. We looked like a real family.
I wondered when exactly it had all broken. Was it gradual? Were there signs I ignored, or was it sudden—a change I didn’t see coming?
Probably a little of both.
I placed the photo back in its spot and grabbed my purse. I turned off the office lights and walked out the back door, the one that led to the private parking lot where I kept my car. It was nothing flashy—just a reliable five-year-old sedan. Another example of my choice to live modestly despite having the means to do otherwise.