Occupied in a way it wasn't yesterday.
Lindsay's presence is subtle but undeniable.
I glance down the hall toward the guest room—toward where Lindsay is settling in.
The light is still on beneath her door.
I wonder if she's unpacking. If she's regretting this. If she's as uncertain as Henry looked when he walked away.
I don't go check.
That's not my role here.
This is manageable, I tell myself.
I married her for structure. For safety. For Henry, even if he can't see it.
My heart is not involved.
That's the point.
And it is for the best.
I close my laptop and stand, moving toward the window.
The grounds are dark beyond the glass, security lights casting long shadows across the lawn.
Everything is in its place.
Everything is as it should be.
So why does it feel like I've misjudged the situation?
