KARLLeila's face filled the television screen.I sat on my couch, a glass of wine in my hand, watching an interview about the museum she had spent the past two years working on.She looked beautiful in her fitted cream dress, her hair falling neatly over her shoulders. There was a confidence in her voice that hadn't been there when we were married. She spoke about the museum's design, the challenges she had overcome, and what the completed project meant to her.And I was proud of her.The interviewer asked her what she hoped people would remember about the project.Leila smiled. “I want people to walk through the museum and feel that every detail has a purpose. I want them to see the work behind it and understand that something meaningful can be built even when the process isn't easy.”I lowered my glass.For a moment, I forgot about the room around me. I was back in the days when I could have sat across from her at dinner and listened to her talk about her work. Back when she would
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