Epilogue
A year has passed since that morning. Mark is still in therapy, and our relationship is one of polite, distant co-parenting. He’s learning to be a father, though the road is long. Evelyn and the elder Whitmore have retreated into a self-imposed exile, their influence in the town vanished like smoke.
I have my own bookkeeping firm now. I help women who feel small. I help them read the stories hidden in their numbers. I help them find their voices before someone tries to take them.
Every morning, I wake up before the sun. Not because I’m afraid. Not because I’m serving someone else. But because I want to be the first one to see the light.
And as the world turns from gray to gold, I remember the lesson I learned in that cold kitchen: Silence is not weakness. It is the sound of a woman preparing her next move.
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