A New Season
Back in Chicago, life settled into a warm rhythm—our brownstone, my work, our weekends.
Six months after the funeral, I stared at a small stick in my bathroom and cried—the good kind this time. After years of trying, I was pregnant.
Stephanie and I maintained a cautious connection—short calls, brief updates. She had filed for divorce, rented a modest apartment, and taken a role at a small marketing firm.
People talked; Boston circles always do. She kept going anyway, determined to rebuild with honesty.
Summary: A quiet joy arrives; both sisters rebuild in the open.
