The house had more windows than Caleb considered reasonable.
On moving day, I found him unpacking a box of tools beside the living room window.
A new curtain rod leaned against the wall.
He looked at it and groaned.
“Please tell me you aren’t planning another curtain project.”
I grinned.
“Why? Afraid I’ll need your help?”
“I’m afraid I’ll spend the rest of my life installing curtain rods.”
“That’s what husbands are for.”
He shook his head, laughing.
An hour later, the curtains were hanging.
They were slightly crooked.
Naturally.
Caleb climbed down from the stepladder and brushed the dust from his hands.
“Should I close them?”
I looked outside.
Sunlight spread across our driveway. A neighbor walked past with a golden retriever, and a delivery truck stopped at the house across the street.
For a moment, I remembered the photograph, the accusations, the strangers who had judged me, and the friend who had tried to make me ashamed of the person I loved.
