4.The birthday girl threw red wine in my face in front of every guest at her luxury party, then told security to remove me like I was hired help.

Two weeks later, the air in Maine carried the sharp, clean scent of crushed pine needles, woodsmoke, and the cold salt of the North Atlantic.

The narrow gravel road wound through the coastal woods, the trees ablaze in vibrant scarlet, gold, and burnt orange. I sat in the passenger seat of Julian’s vintage Land Rover, my window rolled half down, letting the freezing sea air fill my lungs.

Every turn of the road pulled at something deep inside my ribcage.

There was the old general store where my mother used to buy me penny candy when the tips were good. There was the stone bridge over the creek where we used to skip flat slate stones into the freezing water while Arthur’s car was parked on the shoulder, waiting to take him back to his other, secret life.

We rounded the final bend, and the trees opened up to reveal the rocky bluff overlooking Penobscot Bay.

Julian cut the engine. The silence of the Maine woods settled around us—broken only by the distant, rhythmic crash of waves against the granite cliffs and the rustle of dry maple leaves blowing across the clearing.

I stepped out of the vehicle, my boots crunching against the gravel.

Where the burned ruins of our white cottage had stood for twenty years, there was no longer blackened timber or rusted iron bedframes.

Four months ago, on the day Eleanor was sentenced, I had bought the entire twenty-acre bluff back from the bank that had foreclosed on it after the fire. I had hired a local team of carpenters to clear the debris and build something new.

It was a simple, sturdy two-story home made of cedar shingles, gray slate stone, and wide wrap-around porches that faced the sea. It wasn't a mansion. It had no marble pillars, no crystal chandeliers, and no gold-plated door handles. It smelled of raw pine, ocean salt, and fresh cedar.

On the front porch sat two dark green rocking chairs, identical to the ones my mother and I had sat in before the world came apart.

Julian walked up behind me, placing his hands lightly on my shoulders.

“What do you think?” he asked quietly.

I walked up the wooden steps, my hand sliding along the smooth pine railing. I stood on the porch, looking out across the vast, dark blue expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The horizon was completely clear, the sky painted in pale shades of lavender and gold as the sun began to dip behind the pines.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the small, brass key Arthur had left in the safe deposit box.

I didn't need it to open a lockbox anymore. The lawyers were done. The board had voted. The ships were sailing under honest flags.

I walked over to the edge of the porch, looked down at the key resting in my palm, and then, with a single, smooth flick of my wrist, I hurled it off the cliff.

It glinted once in the dying sunlight, a tiny spark of brass tumbling through the salt air, before vanishing silently into the dark, churning waves below.

The debt was settled. The past was closed.

I turned around. Julian was standing at the top of the porch steps, watching me with a look of absolute, unconditional pride.

“You’re home, Nora,” he said softly.

I walked across the wooden deck, closed the distance between us, and reached up, wrapping my arms around his neck.

Julian pulled me against him, his arms locking around my waist, lifting me slightly off my feet as his mouth came down over mine. The kiss tasted of cold sea air, pine, and the sweet, dizzying warmth of a future that had finally been bought and paid for in full.

When he finally pulled back, resting his forehead against mine, we were both laughing—a clean, bright sound that echoed off the cedar shingles and carried out over the water.