“I’m struggling.” She nods. “Trust your struggle, Beau.” “What does that mean?” “If we’re struggling, we’re still in motion, yeah? Heading somewhere better. That’s what I keep telling myself anyway.” My chest tightens. I don’t want Bailey to struggle. I’m where I am by choice. She’s where she is by birth. It seems profoundly unfair. But I lift my glass to her all the same. “I’ll cheers to that. To struggling together.”
