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"I was looking for somewhere small. Somewhere quiet. Somewhere far from Richmond that didn't feel too far, you know?" She shrugs. "I saw the listing for this cottage online and it looked perfect. Private, affordable, available immediately. I packed up my apartment and drove here the same day."

"That's fast."

"Yeah, well. I was motivated."

"Right, because of him."

"Because of Trevor." She's quiet for a moment, then says, "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

"Have you lived in Bloomfield your whole life?"

"Born here. Left at eighteen for the Marines. Came back six years ago when my dad got sick."

"Oh, I'm sorry. About your dad."

"Thank you, he... He passed four years ago." I set my mug on the porch rail. "But by then I'd already figured out I wasn't leaving again."

"You like it here?"

"Most days. It's quiet. People know each other. Not a lot of crime." I glance at her. "Usually."

That makes her smile. "Usually."

"What about you? What do you do for work?"

"Graphic design. Freelance. I can work from anywhere, which is why I could just pack up and leave." She gestures at the cottage. "I've got a design due Friday for a client who can't decide what they want. I've been staring at it all morning and I think it's getting worse the more I work on it."

"That happens with most things. Sometimes you need to step back."

"Yeah. Probably." She takes a sip of coffee. "So, what made you come back? Besides your dad, I mean."

That's a harder question than she probably realizes. I could give her the easy answer. But there's something about the way she's looking at me, genuinely curious and not just making conversation, that makes me want to be honest.

"I got tired," I say finally. "Tired of being deployed, tired of making decisions that got people killed, tired of trying to hold it together when I could feel myself coming apart."

She doesn't say anything, just waits.

"I did three tours in Afghanistan. Made captain. Was good at the job, which meant they kept sending me back. And every time I came home, it got harder to go back. I'd be here on leave, and I'd remember what it felt like to sleep through the night, to walk down a street without scanning for threats, to have a conversation that didn't end with someone dying." I pick up my mug again just to have something to do with my hands. "My dad had surgery for a blocked artery when I was on leave after my third tour. I came back for it, and while I was here, I realized I didn't want to leave. So, I didn't."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. Put in my papers, waited out my commitment, took the sheriff job when it opened up a year later."

"Do you miss it? The Marines?"

"Parts of it. The guys I served with. The clarity of purpose. But no. Not really." I look at her. "I don't miss the nightmares."

She nods like she understands. Maybe she does.

"What about you?" I ask. "Do you have family around?"

"A sister. Emma. She's twenty-five, lives in Charlotte. Works in marketing." Her expression softens when she talks about her sister. "She's the one I told you about, the only one who knows where I am."

"Are you two close?"

"Yeah. She's the best person I know. She drove to my apartment at two in the morning to help me pack when I finally decided to leave. Didn't ask questions, didn't judge, just showed up." She looks down at her coffee. "I couldn't have done it without her."