By our third anniversary, Ethan had saved enough money to open a small repair shop of his own.
It was hardly glamorous. The building had an aging metal roof, two service bays, and a waiting room with chairs that didn’t match.
But it was his.
I remember the day he handed me the keys.
He looked more nervous than he had on our wedding day.
“Well?” he asked.
I walked around the empty garage, imagining the possibilities.
“It’s perfect.”
“You haven’t seen the bathroom.”
“I don’t care about the bathroom.”
He laughed.
Then he pulled me close and rested his forehead against mine.
“I want to build something that lasts.”
Within two years, the first shop was doing well enough that he opened another. He hired mechanics, learned the administrative side of the business, and spent countless evenings dealing with suppliers and customers.
The man my mother had dismissed as a mechanic was becoming a successful business owner.
