He handed them over in a plain envelope.

Neither of us made a speech.

“Take care, Giselle,” he said.

“You too.”

After he left, I arranged to have the locks changed as a practical step, not a declaration of victory.

The locksmith worked quietly while I made coffee.

By the time he finished, the afternoon light was spilling across the living room floor.

Gertrude sent me a short handwritten card.