For the first time in my life, my father had no space to perform.

I picked up my suitcases and walked past them.

No one hugged me goodbye.

No one apologized.

But as Nora opened the car door, I heard my mother whisper behind me, “Robert knew.”

And Nora said, just loudly enough for them to hear, “Robert knew everything.”

PART 3

The apartment was not what I had imagined.

I had pictured a temporary studio with rented furniture, maybe a place where I would sit on a mattress and convince myself I was brave. Instead, Nora drove me to a quiet building in Evanston, twelve floors of brick and glass overlooking a tree-lined street. The lobby smelled of cedar and fresh paint. The doorman greeted Nora by name.

“The trust has prepaid the lease for eighteen months,” Nora said as we rode the elevator. “Utilities are covered. There’s a modest monthly allowance for food, transportation, and personal expenses. Your tuition account is separate.”