CHAPTER 13: What Nora Refuses to Carry

At the ambulance doors, Maya leaned close one last time.
'You did well,' she said.
Nora looked toward the balcony where Dorian no longer stood. An officer had brought him down to the drive. He looked smaller there, separated from height, marble, and inherited light.
For years, Nora had carried the pleasant version of him for other people. She translated his coldness into stress, his absences into work, his affairs into rumors she refused to dignify. Tonight, the translation ended.
Dorian called her name once.
Nora did not answer.
She had answered enough for one marriage.
August stood beside the ambulance, waiting for her permission to ride with her. That mattered. He had power, but he did not use it to replace her voice.
Nora moved her hand toward him.
He took it gently.
The doors closed on the house, the rain, and the man who thought silence could survive a fall.