I stared out at the lake. The statement didn't erase the habit, but it gave me something to put beside it. I thought about Minerva's ring, the pasta, the police reports, and the months afterward. I thought about the version of myself who had been afraid to ask for help because I believed a good partner should be able to fix whatever went wrong at home. Then I thought about Rebecca, who had been willing to tell me exactly what she needed without making it a test.
"I'm glad you came into my life when you did," I told her.
"I'm glad you had room for me," she replied. "But I don't want to be an escape hatch. I want to be somebody you choose when there's no emergency."
I took her hand. "That's what I'm trying to do."
We drove home on Sunday afternoon and found the house exactly as we'd left it. No unexpected vehicles, no messages, no broken locks. I carried the bags inside, checked the refrigerator, and began unpacking. Rebecca put her hiking boots beside the mat without asking where she should leave them, then moved them when I showed her the shoe rack. We argued mildly about whether the trip photographs were better in color or black and white and settled the disagreement by making two albums.
The ordinary details made me unexpectedly happy. Nobody was keeping score. Nobody was turning a preference into a judgment about our commitment. We could be different people in the same room without one of us needing to win.
A few days later, Doris sent me a short handwritten note. She did not mention court or claim to know whether Minerva would change. She wrote that she was grateful I'd tried to handle the property issues fairly, apologized again for the pressure the family had placed on me at the beginning, and wished me peace. I read it twice, then placed it in the drawer beside the old photographs of my father. I didn't reply immediately, but when I did, I thanked her and wished the family well.
I never learned exactly what happened between Minerva and Landon after their final separation. Billie mentioned once that he had moved out of the apartment and was living with friends until the lease expired. She said Minerva was back at her parents' house, looking for work, and attending counseling sessions. I hoped it was true. I also understood that whether she changed was no longer a question I had to answer before allowing myself to move on.
For a long time, I had thought karma meant watching someone who hurt you suffer in a way that proved they had been wrong. I had imagined Landon begging me for help, Minerva losing access to my car, and a judge dismissing her lawsuit as scenes that would somehow restore what I'd lost. Some of those moments happened in one form or another, and none of them gave me back the two years we'd spent together. They couldn't.