He looked out the window, then at me, and a quiet peace settled over his face.

“Welcome home, Claire,” he said.

We got out of the car, carrying only the small bags we had packed before the gala.

The air was salty and freezing, biting at my cheeks.

The driver unloaded our luggage, nodded respectfully, and drove back down the gravel path, leaving us alone.

The silence of the coast was absolute, broken only by the crashing of the waves below.

Alexander unlocked the heavy wooden front door.

Inside, the house smelled of cedar and old paper.

Dust motes danced in the shafts of sunlight coming through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

I walked to the window and looked out at the ocean.

“It is beautiful,” I said.

Alexander walked up behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me close.

“I bought this place because I wanted to show it to you,” he said. “Before everything happened.”

“We have time now,” I said, leaning back against him.

Over the next three weeks, the world outside our quiet sanctuary fell apart and was rebuilt.