.
Not weak.
Not old.
Not harmless.
Six months later, Emily and I sat on the dock at the lake house he had tried to steal. She wore the blue cardigan again, washed clean, hers once more.
The water glowed gold beneath the evening sun.
“Do you ever think about him?” she asked.
I watched a heron rise from the reeds.
“Only when the prison sends updates.”
Emily smiled for the first time without pain.
I took her hand.
