I also cleared a corner of my storage unit and set up a small woodworking bench. My grandfather had taught me to use hand tools when I was young, and I had spent summers making crude shelves, boxes, and birdhouses in his garage. After he died, I kept a few of his tools but rarely touched them. I found his old block plane wrapped in a rag and felt a rush of memories that had nothing to do with Sarah.
My first project was a small shelf for the apartment entryway. The wood came from discarded boards a neighbor gave me, and the joints were uneven because I had forgotten more than I realized. I sanded it after work on three evenings and finished it with a clear coat that made the grain glow in the kitchen light. When I installed it, I felt a satisfaction I had not felt from any wedding checklist in months.
I began taking an online certification course in cloud architecture as well. The promotion had placed me in charge of systems I wanted to understand better, and studying gave me a goal with clear, measurable progress. Some evenings I worked through lessons while listening to the rain against the windows. Other evenings I went to the storage unit, made a mess of sawdust, and came home tired enough to sleep.
The course was not an attempt to prove anything to Sarah. I was not trying to become the wealthy, reckless man she claimed to want. I was rediscovering the satisfaction of making progress for reasons that belonged to me. When I passed the first assessment, I celebrated with Mark over burgers and did not post a single photograph online.
My mother noticed the change before I did. One evening she called and asked what I was doing, and I told her I was refinishing a cabinet somebody had left by the dumpsters. She laughed and said my grandfather would have loved that. Then she asked whether I had eaten, and when I said yes, she sounded relieved in a way that made me realize how worried she had been.
I told her I was doing better. It was true, although better did not mean finished. I still woke sometimes from dreams in which Sarah and I were getting married, then lay in the dark remembering why we were not. I still felt a sharp little pain when a calendar reminder appeared for something we had planned together. But those moments were becoming less frequent, and I was learning to survive them without reaching back toward the person who had caused them.
The first unwanted update about Sarah arrived from Mark late one night. He wrote, "Hey, man, I heard some stuff about Sarah and Liam. You doing okay?" I told him I was fine and asked whether he wanted to watch a game that weekend. He replied that he did, then added, "Things sound messy over there."