Every life holds a book worth reading.

I told Sarah first, because she has always been the one who sees through me. We were in her kitchen on a Sunday afternoon, and I said it fast, before I could lose my nerve: I think I want to start dating again.

She put the kettle down and looked at me for a long moment. Then she laughed, not unkindly, and said, “Mom, it’s about time.”

Michael was harder. He went quiet on the phone, and the next week he sent me an article about online scams. I understood. He was worried, and that was his way of saying so.

I had spent thirty-one years being somebody’s wife and twenty-eight being somebody’s mother. I wasn’t sure who I was supposed to be at a coffee shop across from a stranger.

So I made a deal with myself. One profile. One message a week. If it felt wrong, I could stop, and nobody ever had to know.

By the spring, both of them were asking questions. Sarah wanted to see my profile. Michael wanted to know if anyone had been rude to me. Neither of them said it, but I could tell they were proud.