A piece about learning to be whole — and how that changes love. It didn’t happen with trumpets or fanfare, but on an ordinary afternoon —the kind that hides the holy in plain sight. There was a knock at the door.Not demanding. Not unsure.Just certain. And when she opened it, Love stood there —not the kind that sweeps you off your feet,but the kind that has walked a thousand miles barefoot,carrying its own mistakes in a bundle of wildflowers. “Hey,” Love said, smiling softly.“These reminded me of you. I thought maybe… it was time.” She took the flowers. They smelled…