Not because I didn’t want it.
Because mothers become experts at wondering whether wanting something for themselves makes them selfish.
Then Emily found the offer letter on my desk.
She was twelve, old enough to understand more than I wanted her to.
“You should take it,” she said.
I stared at her.
“What?”
“The London job.”
“Emily—”
“You always tell me not to make myself smaller because someone else wants more room.”
Children remember every lesson adults forget to follow themselves.
I laughed softly.
Then I cried.
Emily hugged me.
Grace joined us without understanding why.
That night, the three of us sat on my bedroom floor eating takeout noodles while looking at photographs of London apartments.
By midnight, we had decided.
We were going.
Legally, the relocation should have been complicated.
Daniel made it easy.
During custody negotiations, he barely read the documents.
He wanted the condo.
He wanted the car.
