I looked around my small London flat. There were two unpacked boxes beside the sofa and a mug drying by the sink. Through the window, the streetlights were just beginning to come on.
For once, the bills waiting on my kitchen counter belonged only to me.
“Yes, sweetheart,” I said. “I really do.”
After we hung up, I opened my laptop and saw the signed employment contract saved among my documents.
The last signature on that page was mine.
And this time, it represented a promise I’d made to myself.
