It was trusting that my husband would listen when I spoke.
It was knowing that the people we loved could remain part of our lives without controlling them.
And it was discovering that the house I’d once been told I didn’t belong in had welcomed me long before I could even remember.
Thirty years earlier, my mother had brought a frightened little girl through its front door.
Now that little girl had grown into a woman with a daughter of her own.
And at last, we were all home.
