“I stood in that driveway believing those cars had taken something that belonged to me.”

Her expression became careful. “And now?”

“Now I understand they came for someone who had always belonged to herself.”

For a moment she said nothing. Then she reached for his hand. It was not forgiveness for everything. It was not a restored marriage, or a promise that the future would be easy.

It was a choice made freely — by a woman who no longer needed to hide, and a man who had finally stopped mistaking love for possession.

“Walk me home,” she said.