We kept painting.
Then she smiled.
“Are you mad at me?”
“I’ll put it on the calendar for Thursday.”
She pointed her paint roller at me.
“Not the shared calendar.”
We both laughed.
Weeks later, I found an envelope in the mailbox.
From Vanessa.
Inside was a short handwritten letter.
She apologized for entering my house.
She did not blame Mark for everything.
She admitted she had personally carried furniture inside.
She said that even if Mark lied to her, she still had responsibility for what she had done.
There was also a cashier’s check.
$350.
Exactly the estimated drywall repair.
I never became her friend.
I didn’t call to comfort her.
But I respected the apology.
And eventually, I stopped wondering whether she stayed married to Mark.
His marriage was no longer my responsibility.
By Thanksgiving, the house finally felt lived in.
Rachel came from Kentucky.
Emily decorated the refrigerator with an awful glitter-covered turkey magnet.
