One evening, Mara joined me on the porch.
We sat beneath the soft evening light with glasses of lemonade.
“Do you miss him?” she asked.
I looked through the open doorway.
A framed copy of the deed hung beside my father’s photograph.
“I miss the person I believed he was.”
Mara nodded.
“And do you miss the woman you were with him?”
I touched the faint scar that remained near my lip.
“No.”
I watched the new maple leaves move above the garden.
“She survived long enough to become me.”
Inside the house, every lock belonged to me.
Every room felt peaceful.
No one opened my mail.
No one rearranged my furniture.
No one told me who could enter my home or what expression I should wear while welcoming them.
Daniel had believed the makeup bag represented control.
Freshen up.
Hide the evidence.
Smile for his mother.
Pretend nothing had happened.
Instead, it became the last order he ever gave me inside my house.
Whenever I smiled now, it was because I chose to.
And no one remained to command it.
