Daniel never blamed me for it.
He said the loss of the house had not broken them; it had revealed what was already broken.
I placed his handmade angel beside the old one.
The gift had cost almost nothing.
It was the first present he had given me in years that did not come with an expectation attached.
That Christmas, there was no new car in the driveway, no designer purse beneath the tree, and no enormous promise waiting for January.
There was only dinner, a repaired relationship still learning how to bear weight, and one sealed envelope stored in my desk as a reminder.
Love had survived.
But only after I stopped confusing it with rescue.
