This is what they’ll remember
They won’t remember our words. They’ll remember the rhythm. The stillness. The change. This is what remains.
This is what we built.
This is what they’ll carry.
They won’t remember the speeches.
They won’t remember the parenting books.
They won’t remember what we said about love, or marriage, or roles.
Because none of that imprints.
What they’ll remember is what we did in silence.
They’ll remember that I stayed.
Not with words.
With tension.
With discipline.
With presence.
