The apartment always smelled faintly of coffee in the mornings.
Eight years of shared mugs in the same cabinet, his hoodies folded next to mine, photos from three different vacations hanging slightly crooked above the couch. At 30, I thought I was right where I was supposed to be, with my future figured out.
I met Luke in college, in a literature class neither of us wanted to take. We started as friends, the kind who studied late and split cheap pizza, and somewhere along the way, friendship turned into something more.
I thought I was right where I was supposed to be.
After graduation, my boyfriend and I moved in together.
Luke met my sister, Jane, and our parents. He introduced me to Donald, his best friend, and the rest of his family. Before long, we were spending blended holidays, birthdays, and vacations together. Even our toothbrushes ended up in the same little ceramic cup.