On the back, she had written a sentence.
You gave me somewhere to stay when I had lost my home. You helped me remember that I could build another one.
I looked up.
“Sarah…”
She touched my cheek.
“You didn’t save me, Mark. I saved myself. But you stood beside me while I learned how.”
I pulled her into my arms.
“And you taught me something too.”
“What?”
“That frozen pizza is not a food group.”
She burst out laughing.
Then she kissed me.
Later that night, as we sat on the sofa planning our trip, I asked her a question that had been on my mind for months.
“Do you ever regret knocking on my door that night?”
Sarah considered it.
“No.”
“Not even a little?”
“Not even when I discovered your refrigerator was a crime scene.”
“That’s unfair. I’ve improved.”
“You bought a new refrigerator.”
“Progress is progress.”
