She stood beneath the massive dome while sunlight poured through the oculus in a perfect white column. Tourists whispered and took photos around her, but Helen stood still with her eyes raised.
She thought of Daniel.
She thought of the twenty-two-year-old version of herself who had wanted to study art history, who had loved old buildings and handwritten letters and black coffee. She thought of the thirty-five-year-old mother packing lunches before dawn. The forty-eight-year-old widow signing insurance papers with numb fingers. The fifty-five-year-old grandmother driving across town with groceries because Brian had forgotten to shop before a snowstorm. Mother'sDay gifts
All of those women had been her.Women’s empowerment coaching
But none of them had to be all of her.
That afternoon, she joined a small walking tour. The guide was a silver-haired Roman woman named Lucia who spoke English with warmth and precision. There were seven people in the group: two retired teachers from Oregon, a young couple from Toronto, a nurse from Chicago, and a widower from Boston named Arthur Bell.
Arthur was sixty-six, gentle in manner, and carried a folded map even though he used his phone for directions. During the tour, he noticed Helen lingering over a carved doorway longer than the others.
“First time in Rome?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said. “First time anywhere just for myself.”
Arthur smiled. “That is a very good reason to look slowly.”
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