Lillian realized she had stopped searching for herself.The thought came quietly, without ceremony, as she stood at the front window of Bloom House in the late afternoon. Light poured in at an angle she had learned to recognize over the years, warming the wooden floor, catching on the edges of glass vases and leaves trimmed with care.Nothing felt provisional.That was new.She rested one hand against the window frame, the other low and protective without conscious intent. Her body carried life now, steady and unquestioned. Not as destiny. Not as obligation. As continuation.Behind her, the house moved softly. Nathaniel was in the kitchen, not working, not coordinating, not managing anything that could not wait. He moved with the ease of so
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