The helicopter waited across the lawn, blades still.
My children ran ahead, boots crunching, their laughter returning in bursts now that the house was behind them.
Margaret followed us onto the steps without a coat.
Daniel came after her.
Cold wind struck his uniform, but he seemed not to feel it.
“Kesha,” he called.
I stopped at the bottom of the steps.
He descended slowly.
“I know you don’t owe me anything.”
“No,” I said. “I don’t.”
“I’ll cooperate.”
“Good.”
“I’ll tell the truth.”
“Better.”
“I want to earn a place.”
I looked at him for a long time.
Snow gathered on his shoulders.
Once, that image would have undone me. Daniel Reynolds in uniform beneath a winter sky, eyes full of remorse, voice lowered in the tone that had made me believe promises.
Now I saw only a man standing at the edge of consequences.
