Sunday afternoon. She was on the couch under the blanket. A book open on her knees. It occurred to her that there was nothing she wanted right now, nothing missing — not a larger apartment, not a different job, not a version of her life where she was elsewhere. The thing she had spent years chasing turned out to be this specific ordinary afternoon with a book and light and a neighbor mowing. She wasn't excited. She wasn't bored. Life was the right size.
