Monday, I opened my laptop and searched “architecture firms San Francisco.” Scroll through listings. Imagine calling my parents, explaining a cross-country move, hearing the questions I won’t know how to answer.

I close the laptop.

Tuesday, I drive past Northside Baptist, the church of my childhood. Youth group in the basement, Sunday services where I memorized every hymn. I sit in the parking lot for an hour, engine off, watching people come and go.

I don’t go inside.

Wednesday, Emily calls about wedding details. Dad’s giving a toast. Mom wants me to do a reading from Corinthians. Love is patient, love is kind.

“You’ll bring Rebecca, right?” Emily asks.

“Yes,”...