The television was tuned to the evening news, and Arianne was on the couch with a baby in her arms.
It was strange, she thought, how much had changed. There had been another evening like this, not so long ago—one morning when she had sat on this same couch with the twins on either side of her, watching Franz on a morning show promoting the first season of The Second Cut. She had been different then. The twins had been different. Franz had been different too: a man she was learning to know, learning to trust, learning to let into the spaces of her life she had long since closed off. That version of the morning felt like someone else's memory.
Now she held their son.
