Chapter 12 - THE HOUSE BY THE SEA

In September, I bought a small house on the coast of Maine.
Not a mansion.
Not an estate.
A weathered cedar house with blue shutters, a stone fireplace, and a porch overlooking the Atlantic.
My father had taken me to Maine when I was a child.
We used to walk along the shore collecting sea glass.
He told me the ocean could turn broken things into something beautiful.
I had always thought that was a comforting metaphor.
Now I wasn't so sure.
Broken things didn't become beautiful because they suffered.
They became beautiful when time, care, and the right conditions allowed something new to emerge.
I spent the autumn renovating the house.
I chose the paint.
Bought the furniture.
Planted lavender beside the porch.
For the first time in eight years, I made decisions without imagining whether Julian would approve.
One morning, a man knocked on my door.
He was tall, with dark hair and a weathered face.
He wore a navy sweater and carried a toolbox.
“Morning. I'm Noah Bennett.”
I blinked.
“Hello.”
“Your neighbor said you needed someone to look at the porch railing.”
I glanced at the railing.
It had been wobbling for weeks.
“Yes.”
He smiled.
“I'm a carpenter.”
I looked at the toolbox.
“That explains the accessories.”
He laughed.
I stepped aside.
“Come in.”
Noah was thirty-nine.
A widower.
A father of a twelve-year-old boy named Finn.
He owned a small restoration business and seemed entirely unimpressed by expensive things.
The first time he saw my car, he asked whether it was difficult to park.
I laughed so hard I nearly spilled my coffee.
He had no idea who Julian Hale was.
He didn't know about the scandal.
The diamond.
The board meeting.
Or the headlines.
And when I finally told him, weeks later, he listened quietly.
Then he asked:
“Do you want another cup of tea?”
I stared at him.
“That's it?”
He shrugged.
“Sounds like you've had a rough year.”
I smiled.
“Yes.”
He filled the kettle.
May you like
“Then tea seems reasonable.”
For the first time in a long time, I laughed without feeling guilty.