I stood alone in the living room and listened to their footsteps.
For years, our home with Ryan had sounded like restraint. Doors closed gently so he wouldn’t complain. Laughter lowered because his calls were important. Questions swallowed because his patiencwas thin.
Here, the children’s voices bounced off the walls.
I had forgotten a home could welcome noise.
That evening, after grilled cheese sandwiches and baths and a long negotiation over bedtime, both children finally fell asleep in the same room. Lily had insisted she didn’t want to sleep alone. Noah pretended to be annoyed, then moved his pillow to the floor beside her bed without being asked.
I sat on the balcony with my laptop open and the ocean murmuring in the dark.
Dawson had sent more documents.
This time, they were organized into folders.
Marital Assets.
Real Estate.
Business Transfers.
Custody Notes.
Clinic Development.
I opened the last folder first, though I already knew I shouldn’t.
