Julian never used the house as an office, and I never asked for details about what happened between them.
Their marriage was theirs to confront.
The house remained mine, but I did not move back immediately.
Too much of the kitchen still belonged to the morning my father called my grief inconvenient.
Too much of the garage still felt like the place my family had tried to put me when they believed I had nowhere else to go.
I stayed in secure housing until my orders changed and my medical team cleared each transition.
Months later, when my daughter was born, I gave her David’s middle name.
My mother met her only after accepting the rules I set: no surprise visits, no questions about classified work, no criticism of my grief, and no contact through Harper or my father.
She did not argue.
The first time she visited, she brought groceries and left them on the kitchen counter without rearranging anything.
