That’s a second life.” “You changed, too,” he said, defensive now, “after you stopped working.” I looked at him, genuinely astonished.

“You begged me to quit my job.” “I never forced you to stay home,” he said.

And something in me that had been flickering for a long time simply went out, quietly, for good.

He saw it happen, I think, because he tried to soften his voice, but it was far too late.

My phone buzzed: a message from Charles, telling me that a two-bedroom apartment had just come available in a residential complex managed by my father’s trust.

“I’m leaving in the morning,” I told Gavin.