At first, we called regularly.
Eventually, even birthday messages stopped.
Nobody argued.
Life just got busy.
By my 55th birthday, I hadn’t seen any of them in decades.
That morning, I found our old map while cleaning a closet.
Our names were still written along the bottom.
I sat on the floor for a long time.
I’d had a good life, but something about that map bothered me.
We’d spent 42 years saying we’d take that trip someday.