I watched him walk down the driveway, his silhouette disappearing under the yellow glow of the streetlamp.

I closed the door and locked it.

The latch clicked shut with a solid, reassuring sound.

***

The next three days passed in a quiet blur of cleaning and sorting.

With the financial worry gone, David seemed like a different person.

He came down to breakfast on Sunday morning wearing a clean shirt, his eyes bright.

“I slept eight hours last night,” he said, pouring himself a cup of coffee.

“I don’t think I’ve done that since last summer.”

“It shows,” Rachel said, nudging him with her elbow. “You don’t look like a bear anymore.”

“Thanks,” David said, but he smiled.

After breakfast, I went up to my bedroom and opened the closet.

At the very back, wrapped in a plastic dry-cleaning bag, was a forest green dress.

It was made of a soft crepe material that draped beautifully.

Arthur had bought it for me for our thirty-fifth anniversary.

I took it out of the bag and held it against myself in front of the mirror.