Chapter 207

• The flight home from Paris left me with a dull ache behind my eyes. It was not only from travel but from the weight of the week I had carried. Teaching had filled me and emptied me at once, and though I had rested, my body still felt as though it belonged in a different rhythm.
• When I unlocked the door of our home, the familiar scent of cedar and fabric greeted me. Julian had beaten me there. He had left a vase of flowers on the table, pale pink roses that opened toward the window. I smiled at the gesture, small and steady, the kind of welcome that reminded me I belonged here, not in lecture halls or under Paris lights.
• The first thing I did was walk into my workroom. My sketchbook sat on the shelf where I had left it, a thin film of dust catching the corner. I brushed it clean with my hand before lifting it down. When I opened it, the last page stared back at me—unfinished lines, a dress that had never found its full form.