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They left, hand in hand, Noa chattering about pancake toppings and when we could do it while Tyson listened with the patience of someone used to stream-of-consciousness conversations.

I went inside and opened my laptop, figuring I should at least pretend to be a functional adult who hadn’t abandoned her entire life. Furniture first. I ordered the basics from whatever online retailer would deliver to the middle of Tennessee. Bed, couch, table, chairs. Nothing fancy. Just enough to stop sleeping on floors and eating standing up.

My phone had approximately seven million notifications. I scrolled through, ignoring anything from numbers I recognized. Work emails had piled up, full of polite concern that barely masked the real question: when was I coming back?

I called my store manager instead of answering emails. Lindsay picked up on the second ring.

“Sam! Oh thank god, we’ve been worried. Are you okay?”

Was I okay? I was living in a house that might be condemned, sleeping on floors… But I wasn’t in Charlotte watching my life burn down, so that was progress.

“I’m fine. Taking some time. How’s business?”

“Good. Busy. We have a new client that hired us for his entire house and if they like it, they’d continue with their vacation home. But Sam, what happened? The wedding…”

“Is there anything urgent?”

She got the hint. “No. We’re managing. But people are asking when you’ll be back.”

“I won’t be. Not for a while.”

Silence. Then, carefully, “How long is a while?”

Good question. How long did it take to rebuild a life? To forget betrayal?

“I don’t know. Lindsay, what would you say to a promotion?”

“A… what?”

“Running everything. My representative on-site. Better salary, obviously. Full benefits. You basically do the job anyway when I’m not there.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead serious. You know the business, the clients love you, and frankly, you’re better with customer service than I am.”

“I… yes. Yes! Oh my god, Sam, thank you. But are you sure? This place is your baby.”

“I’m sure. Draw up the paperwork with corporate. I’ll sign whatever needs signing.”

We talked details for another twenty minutes. Salary negotiations, responsibilities, transition timeline. Normal business things that felt surreal when conducted from an empty house in Tennessee. By the time we hung up, I’d essentially handed over my professional life to someone else. At least for now.

Add it to the list of things I’d lost in the divorce.

***

Night fell differently in Cedarbrook. In Charlotte, darkness came gradually, streetlights and neon signs fighting back the black. Here, when the sun set, darkness won. No competition. Just stars and silence and the occasional owl announcing its presence.

I couldn’t sleep despite the exhaustion. The floor wasn’t any more comfortable the second night, and my mind wouldn’t stop racing. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Garrett. Sophie. My mother’s face when she’d admitted she knew. The wedding dress hanging in the shower.

Around ten, I gave up and went to the window. The moon was almost full, making the yard Tyson had fixed shine in silver light. Through the trees, I could see his house too. The living room window glowed warm against the darkness.

I should have looked away. Privacy was a thing, boundaries were important, and I was absolutely not someone who stared into other people’s windows. But movement caught my eye, and suddenly I couldn’t look away.

The living room had been transformed into a blanket fort. Sheets draped between furniture, string lights twinkling like stars brought indoors. Noa lay asleep in a nest of cushions and stuffed animals, one arm flung wide, princess dress replaced with dinosaur pajamas. Tyson sat beside her, book in hand, reading silently while she slept.

He closed the book eventually, setting it aside with careful movements. When he lifted her, she stirred slightly, mumbling something that made him smile. He carried her with ease that spoke of years of bedtimes and midnight wake-ups, disappearing down a hallway I couldn’t see.

I should have moved then, stepped back, returned to my sad floor bed and pretended I hadn’t seen this glimpse of their life. But I stayed frozen, watching the empty blanket fort with its twinkling lights.