But while I was sitting in glass boardrooms, the real world was slipping through my fingers.

I looked back at Claire, who was watching me quietly.

“What are you thinking?” she asked.

“I’m thinking about the future,” I said.

“I’m thinking about what actually matters.”

Three days later, Dr. Shah cleared Claire for release.

Her ribs were still sore, and she walked with a slight limp, but she was eager to leave.

I drove her and the boys back to the estate myself.

The iron gates opened slowly, wet gravel crunching under the tires of the SUV.

Ruth was waiting on the front porch, wrapped in a thick wool shawl.

When she saw Claire get out of the car, the old woman’s face softened.

She did not say a word.

She simply walked down the steps and embraced Claire tightly.

“Welcome home, child,” Ruth whispered.

We walked inside, the grand foyer smelling of beeswax and lemon polish.

It was the same house, but it felt entirely different.

The coldness that had lingered in the hallways since my wife’s passing was gone.