“With Charlie and the house and all of Cam’s notes at home, being here I finally feel uncaged,” I reply. “I feel like Kate, the woman. Not the widow. Not the wife. Not the mum. Not the employee. Just a woman, with a blank page in front of her.” He nods. The emptiness of that blank page that was so confronting two years ago is starting to feel like this delicious invitation to write the next part of my story. A tantalizing glimpse of how it might look to have purpose and forward momentum into a new life.
