A heavy quiet settled between us—not fear, not panic, just an understanding. One that acknowledged the truth I’d been trying not to face.
“They’re not done,” I whispered.
“No,” she agreed softly. “But you’re not alone.”
I swallowed hard.
“Thank you for saying that.”
She placed a hand on my arm.
“You did the right thing yesterday, dear. Boundaries help everyone see the truth—even if they don’t like it.”
Before I could respond, the metallic clink of Walter’s tools sounded again outside. Mrs. Rowan squeezed my arm once more.
“I’ll let you finish. Call me if you need anything.”
After she left, I carried the muffins to the counter and stared at them, feeling something odd and bittersweet stirring in me.
Support.
The simple, quiet kind.
It had been a long time since I’d felt it.
By the time Walter finished the last door, the sun was sharper, melting through the fog and warming the deck.
“All set,” he said, handing me three new keys on a metal ring. “Front, back, side, basement. Every lock’s changed. Deadbolts reinforced.”
I took the keys, feeling their weight like armor.
“Thank you.”
He nodded, wiping his hands on a cloth.