Thomas’s townhome was sold at a foreclosure auction in late October.

The new neighbors were a young couple with a toddler who played in the yard with a plastic red wagon.

Sometimes I would watch them from the kitchen window while I washed the dinner dishes.

It felt strange to realize that the man who had caused us so much anxiety was simply gone from our daily lives.

He had taken a plea agreement with the licensing board, avoiding jail time but losing his credentials and his reputation.

He was living in a small apartment near Norfolk now, working as an assistant manager for a commercial leasing firm.

He didn’t call us, and we didn’t call him.

The silence he left behind did not feel heavy; it felt clean.

On Saturdays, Caroline and I would drive to the regional library.

She was taking advanced placement physics and calculus online to prepare for her university courses.

Rebecca’s letters arrived on the first Tuesday of every month.

They were always the same: simple white envelopes with neat, blue handwriting.