He told himself he was starting over. But guilt doesn’t need a passport. It travels light, fits easily in the chest, and never needs rest. Every night before bed, he still left the porch light on—a habit he couldn’t break. Some part of him still hoped she might come home.
The coastal town didn’t care who he was. That was a mercy. Richard found work at a small accounting firm where no one recognized his face from old headlines. He kept his head down, spoke little, and made sure to leave before anyone could invite him for a drink.