I left the office and drove north, the heavy traffic of the city slowly giving way to the open pines of New Hampshire and Maine.

The transition felt like shedding a heavy, suffocating skin.

When I arrived at Maren’s cottage, the afternoon light was already fading into a deep purple.

I parked my car in the gravel driveway and walked to the front door, carrying a box of books I had bought for the kids.

Maren opened the door before I could knock.

She was wearing an apron, and the smell of roasting chicken drifted out from the kitchen.

“You’re early,” she said, but she stepped aside to let me in.

“The traffic was light,” I said, setting the box down on the floor.

“Noah!” Lila yelled from the living room. “Adrian’s here!”

I smiled, noticing that she had used my name, but the tone was warm.

We sat down to dinner at the small kitchen table, the four of us crowded together in the tight space.

I passed the potatoes to Noah, watching him carefully spoon them onto his plate.