Marcus appeared in the doorway, drying his hands. "You cold?"
"A little," Elena said. "I'm fine now."
He glanced at the coat, then at her, and something old and careful passed through his face — not panic, not performance, only the acknowledgement of a shared museum neither of them visited daily and neither of them pretended had burned down.
"I love you," he said.
"I know," Elena answered. And then, because truth was still the rent, she added, "Stay someone I can keep knowing it about."
He nodded. Nora called from the living room with the absolute monarchy of toddler need. They went together toward her voice — two people, a coat on its rightful hook, a house that had learned how to hold what happened without being only what happened. Outside, somewhere far from Midland, trains ran on night schedules for other strangers, other arrivals, other questions that would not be answered on the platform. Inside, the ordinary evening continued, which was, after everything, the only ending Elena Brooks had ever wanted enough to survive for.