I remembered teasing him that he’d built furniture fit for a queen.
He’d bowed and called me Your Majesty.
The memory made me smile.
The contractor waited while I looked around.
“Let’s do the repairs,” I said.
He nodded.
“I’ll put together an updated plan.”
After he left, I sat in the kitchen with the old estimate and a photograph of Michael standing beside the finished terrace.
For months, I’d told myself I was protecting what he’d left behind. But the terrace was becoming unsafe while I tried to preserve it exactly as it had been.
Michael had built it for us to enjoy.
He wouldn’t have wanted me to be afraid to step onto my own rooftop terrace.
A week later, Karen knocked.
I considered ignoring her.
Then I opened the door, leaving the screen between us.
She held an envelope.
“I wanted to offer something toward the damage.”
