He sat on the stairs, a small, lonely figure in the middle of a barren mansion.

As I closed the heavy front door behind me, I heard the click of the lock.

It felt like the final chapter of a book closing.

I drove back to Maine that night.

The drive was long, but I didn’t feel tired.

I felt a strange, light sensation in my chest.

When I arrived at the cottage, the porch light was on.

Harrison was asleep in his crib, his small chest rising and falling.

I sat by his bed for a long time, watching him sleep.

The next morning, the sun rose bright and warm over the Atlantic.

I dressed Harrison in his thick yellow sweater.

Lydia called me as I was tying his shoes.

“Julian signed the final papers,” she said. “The real ones this time. He surrendered the Delaware shares to Harrison’s trust.”

“Is it over?” I asked.

“It’s over, Elena,” she said. “The divorce is final.”

I felt a single tear slip down my cheek, but I didn’t sob.

It was a tear of pure relief.