Or a leash.
I know that in my head.
My body is slower to learn.
At night I sit at the kitchen table with paperwork spread out.
Licensing programs.
Trade certifications.
Apprenticeships.
Carpentry. Electrical. Restoration.
I run my thumb along timelines and application deadlines.
It feels good to plan something that doesn’t hinge on someone else’s emotional weather.
Something measurable.
Square footage. Framing angles. Finish work.
Not moods.
Not minefields.
I picture days that start with coffee and end with exhaustion earned honestly.
I picture peace.
And then my phone lights up.
Sage.
I let it ring twice.
Then answer.
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey,” she replies, soft. Careful. “I just wanted to hear your voice.”
I close my eyes.
This is the danger zone.
Not the fights.
Not the jealousy.
Not the accusations.
This.
The gentleness.
The restraint.
