Later, when the kids slept, Lisa stood in the doorway like someone unsure which room she belongs in. “I’m sorry,” she said, the words unclenched, unvarnished.
“I know,” Helen replied. She set a cup of tea on the table between them—neutral ground, warm and harmless. “But we change what happens next. That’s the part we get to choose.”
Lisa nodded, eyes bright the way rain turns bright the second the sun thinks about coming back.
