Chapter 8 - THE RIVER WITHOUT FOG
Two months later, the apartment in Columbus was gone, replaced by a small, sunlit house on the quiet side of the city near the university park where the maple trees dropped golden leaves across the grass every morning.
The nursery didn't have grey walls anymore. Leah had painted them a warm, soft cream during her first week there, working slowly while the baby slept in his basket beside her. The pine shelf Nathan had never managed to install was finally on the wall, holding three rows of children's books and a framed photograph of her sister’s family taken at a sunny lake up north.
The wooden mobile of clouds and stars hung from the ceiling above the crib, turning lazily in the draft from the open window.
Leah sat in the rocking chair, her son cradled against her chest, watching the afternoon light play across his small, perfect fingers.
Her phone buzzed on the side table—a text from Simone, who had successfully finalized her own separation and was currently packing bags for a permanent move to Paris.
“Coffee on Thursday at the plaza? Bring the boy. I want to buy him his first pair of designer shoes just to annoy Doreen if she ever reads the society pages again.”
May you like
Leah smiled, typing back a short confirmation before setting the phone down.
Outside the window, the Scioto River ran past the park—not the grey, silt-choked water of her nightmares, but a wide, clear stream sparkling in the autumn sun, moving steadily toward an open horizon where no one could ever change the current without permission.
