Liam watched her from the kitchen. “I can’t live here,” she said without turning around. “Every time I see that balcony, I feel the lock clicking again.”
Liam put down the glass he was holding. “We’re leaving.”
“You don’t have to do it out of guilt,” she murmured.
“It’s not your fault,” he said. “It’s because this house is no longer a home for you.”
They moved to a small house in Kalamazoo, near a street where the mornings smelled of coffee, freshly baked bread, and damp mud after the rain. Nora brought her plants, while Liam brought only a few things, and the rest they sold or gave away.
For months they lived slowly. There were good days with peaceful breakfasts, walks through the local parks, and calls with Mrs. Hazel after the successful surgery.
And there were bad days when Nora would remain silent for hours. Liam would wake up in the early morning and check if she was still by his side, like a man condemned to remember.
