“Let him bring them,” I said.

I carried the briefcase down the long hallway toward my room, past the portrait of my father in his first suit, past the clock that had not kept time since the summer I turned forty.

The gravel in the driveway crunched under a car that was not mine.

I stopped at the window and looked down.

Aaron’s black sedan sat at the gate, not moving, not pulling in.

Just waiting.