She nodded. She looked at me for a second, a flicker of something raw and tired in her eyes. “She’ll be out by the end of the week. She knows I mean it.”

She was right. Patricia moved out on Thursday. She didn’t put up a fight.

She didn’t call. She just packed her things and left the keys on the counter. The condo is quiet now, and the river still flows just the way it always did. Mason doesn’t talk about the dinner much, but he doesn’t iron his shirts with that same desperate, careful look anymore. He knows now that he doesn’t have to earn a seat at the table. He just has to be himself.

The folder is still in the nightstand, though. Just in case.