The days that followed were marked by an unsettling calm. They moved around each other like strangers performing a choreographed routine. Connor started coming home later—once, sometimes twice a week—mumbling about deadlines or errands. He never offered detail, and Julia had stopped asking for it.
One evening, as she sorted through the laundry, she found herself lifting Connor’s shirt to her nose. Not because she wanted to catch him—but because she didn’t know what else to do. The sharp sting of peppermint met her there. Not tobacco. Not smoke. Just…peppermint.