Thursday arrived with a calm that felt almost deliberate, as if the lake knew the day was carrying something and had decided to hold its breath. Aaron woke before the light was fully up, the room grey and still, Sophie's breathing slow and even beside him. He lay without moving for a long time, listening to the quiet, letting the shape of the day assemble itself in his mind.
Today, the story left his hands.
He slipped out of bed and padded to the kitchen. The house was cool, the floors cold under his feet, and he made coffee by the window, watching the first light gather over the water. The lake was flat and silver, a heron standing motionless at the edge of the dock like a sentry. He stood there until his coffee was drinkable, and then he carried it to the porch and waited.
His phone buzzed at eight.
"It's done," Jessica said. No greeting, no preamble. "Filed at eight on the dot. It's public record now."
