“You did the right thing, Naomi,” he said quietly.

“You spent three years propping up a house that was already sliding.”

I looked at his hand for a moment, then reached out and shook it once, firmly.

“Thanks for the transfer, David,” I said.

“See you in Europe next week,” he said, stepping back toward the departure concourse.

I picked up my leather shoulder bag and handed my boarding pass to the agent at the scanner.

The machine chimed green, and I walked down the narrow carpeted jet bridge toward the open door of the plane.