Her friends were already at the restaurant when she arrived — three women who had known her long enough to understand exactly what this particular evening represented without needing to be told.
They had watched her grow quieter over the past year.
They had watched her cancel plans, abbreviate conversations, and give small, careful answers when asked how things were going at home.
They had been patient with all of that.
And now they pulled out the chair beside them and handed her a glass and asked her nothing about him at all — which was, she realized, precisely what she needed.
They talked about everything else.
They laughed the way she had forgotten she could laugh — without monitoring the clock, without keeping one eye on her phone, without the low hum of management that had become the background frequency of her daily life.
At some point during the evening, a message came through from him.
She glanced at it, set the phone face-down on the table, and returned to the conversation.
She was not ready to go back yet.
What Was Waiting at Home
