Two blocks away, close enough for my three-year-old to scooter their on his own power.
Two thousand miles away, far enough that my three-year-old has to pause to think when I mention his uncle’s name.
Meals together every Tuesday and Wednesday, lapsed after just a few months into routine and predictability.
Meals described on Skype at big holidays, lushly described and imagined, fanciful.
Conversation full of fun facts, latest news, interesting updates.
Conversation full of family gossip, honest questions, and easy laughter.
In my head, I know that these people love my husband, love my kids, love me.
In my bones, I know that these people love me, love my kids, love my husband.