## CHAPTER 6: A Room of Her Own
Nora moved into Arthur's house after the hospital discharged her. Her childhood bedroom had become a guest room, but the windows still faced the pear tree she planted with Eleanor when she was twelve. A quilt lay across the bed, and a stack of architecture books waited on the bedside table. Arthur had bought a small rocking chair and placed it near the window without making a speech about it. The first morning, Nora woke frightened because no one had knocked to demand that she prepare breakfast. The quiet seemed suspicious. She listened for Esther's footsteps, then remembered where she was. Arthur was downstairs making coffee. Hazel had been brought over by Mrs. Lopez and was sleeping beside the chair. The dog lifted her head when Nora entered and thumped her tail twice. Arthur asked whether Nora wanted toast or oatmeal. She stared at the ordinary question. At the Vales' house, breakfast had become an argument about what a pregnant woman should eat and who had worked hardest. Here the decision belonged to her. "Toast," she answered, then laughed unexpectedly. Arthur smiled without asking what was funny. They made a schedule for prenatal appointments and discussed practical arrangements for Nora's work. She had used most of her vacation days and worried about the restoration project awaiting her attention. Her employer, a small preservation nonprofit, offered temporary remote assignments and connected her with human resources staff who could explain leave options. Nora felt relieved and ashamed at once, as though needing assistance made her less competent. Her supervisor assured her that professionalism did not require pretending nothing had happened. That afternoon Nora met with attorney Nora Chen, who specialized in family matters. Nora asked questions slowly, distinguishing facts from memories and assumptions. She explained that Nora could seek protective measures, review financial accounts, and consider different paths for the marriage. She warned that legal proceedings might be stressful and that no lawyer could promise a particular outcome. Nora appreciated the candor. Nora also recommended recording the incident while details remained fresh. Nora wrote about the bank letter, the argument, the chair, the bowl, and Caleb's response. She described the pain in her abdomen and the fear for the baby. The act of writing was exhausting, but it helped separate what she knew from what she had spent months explaining away. Arthur was learning a similar lesson. He wanted to solve everything quickly, to call every person he knew and impose order. Nora reminded him that Nora was her own client and would make her own decisions. Arthur apologized to his daughter for sometimes acting as though protection meant taking control. Nora had never heard him frame it that way. She told him his presence mattered most when he listened. Later they looked through a box of Eleanor's belongings. There were recipe cards, photographs, and a half-finished knitted blanket. Nora remembered her mother teaching her to repair torn seams rather than discard clothes. Eleanor had often said that fixing things was admirable only when the material was still sound. Nora turned that lesson over in her mind. She had tried to repair a marriage without admitting how badly its foundations had shifted. As evening fell, Arthur received a call from an old colleague who had heard rumors about the confrontation. He declined to discuss the details. When the colleague suggested that Arthur could use his rank to frighten Caleb, he firmly refused. Nora overheard and felt grateful. She did not want her husband's family to claim she had won by borrowing her father's power. She wanted safety, fairness, and a truthful account. Nora's first afternoon alone at Arthur's house was unexpectedly difficult. He had gone grocery shopping, Priya was at work, and Hazel slept beneath the table. Nothing happened. The silence revealed how thoroughly she had learned to anticipate disapproval. She walked room to room, noticing objects Eleanor had chosen: a blue ceramic bowl, a shelf of poetry, and a pencil drawing of the pear tree. Her mother had collected beautiful things without needing them to be expensive. Nora sat down with a notebook and made a list of decisions that belonged to her. She could choose what to eat, whom to call, how to decorate the nursery, and when to rest. The list looked almost childish, but writing it felt like recovering a language she had forgotten. When Arthur returned, she told him she wanted to choose the paint herself. He handed her a collection of sample cards and said the walls were hers. They spent the evening considering shades of green while Hazel slept peacefully between them. Before bed, she stood at the window with a hand on her belly. The baby moved beneath her palm. She imagined explaining to her daughter why their family might look different from other families. The thought hurt, but it no longer seemed impossible. She whispered, "We can be honest, even when honesty is hard." In the pear tree outside, a branch stirred against the glass like a gentle answer. She recorded the date, determined never to deny what happened. and questions. It helped to separate what she knew from what she feared, and what she feared from what anyone could