The first time I realize I’m not bracing anymore, it terrifies me.
Not because something is wrong.
Because nothing is.
Eleanor is asleep upstairs.
Marcus is in his study, reviewing quarterly reports with the kind of calm he used to fake and now actually inhabits.
London is gray but gentle outside the window.
No calls from lawyers.
No board tensions.
No media storms.
No school incidents.
No petitions.
No fractures.
Just… life.
And for the first time in years, my nervous system doesn’t feel coiled.
It feels open.
Which is exactly what unsettles me.
It creeps in over days.
Little things.
I stop checking headlines.
Marcus leaves his phone downstairs without noticing.
Zara calls and I don’t immediately scan her voice for strain.
The house doesn’t hum with anticipation.
It
