“You look like yourself again.”
My hand stilled around the bottle. “What does that mean?”
“It means what I said.”
“I’ve been myself.”
“I know.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’m not saying you haven’t.”
“Sounds like you are.”
“No.” She paused. “You’ve been good, Ellis.”
I didn’t say anything.
“You’ve been taking care of Mila. Working. Doing your little pictures.”
“My little pictures pay my bills.”
“You know what I mean.”
I did.
She looked toward the hallway before continuing. “You’ve been good, Ellis. You built a life. A good one.”
“Okay.”
“But for a long time, that was enough for you.”
I looked at her. “It was supposed to be.”
The words came out before I decided whether I wanted to say them.
Tasha’s face softened, and I looked down at the bottle in my hand.
After Elena died, enough became a word I used a lot.
Mila was enough. My work was enough. Family was enough. The house, the routines, school pickups and editing pictures after Mila went to sleep.
None of it was a lie.
I loved my daughter more than anything in this world. I loved what I did. I loved the life I managed to build after losing one I thought I’d have forever.
But somewhere along the way, I stopped asking whether I wanted anything else.
Tasha tapped one finger against the table.
“That’s all I’m saying.”
I looked at her.
“You said a lot more than that.”
“I usually do.”
“That I agree with.”
She smiled.