“And how is Julian?” I asked.

Not out of bitterness, and not really out of curiosity either — only out of the quiet, detached completeness of a woman for whom a man has become a matter of public record rather than private pain.

Sarah sipped her coffee.

“He finished his thirty-six months of federal time last November.

Between the permanent revocation of his contractor’s licenses and the felony fraud record, he’s working now as an entry-level logistics clerk at a building-supply yard outside Richmond.

Small rented apartment.