I have not answered it. I am not certain I will. What I am certain of is that whatever answer I give, if I give one, will be mine, written from a house that is mine, in a life that is mine, with my initials stitched into the hems the way I stitched them into the cushions because I am a woman who has finally stopped apologizing for taking up the space she paid for.
The sea moves beyond the dunes every morning without asking permission.
