My parents kicked me out one day after my C-section—with my newborn in my arms. Then my husband pulled up, looked at my face, and made one phone call that changed everything.

Then she stood still, breathing.

Mitchell appeared at the doorway a moment later, tie loosened, phone still in hand. “You okay?”

Wendy looked at the basket full of shredded paper and felt, not triumph exactly, but a deep even certainty. “Yeah,” she said. “I think I finally am.”

He came over, kissed the side of her head, and glanced at the shredder. “Need me to read anything?”

“No.”

He nodded once, trusting that answer.