The flight home from Paris left me with a dull ache behind my eyes. It was not only from travel but from the weight of the week I had carried. Teaching had filled me and emptied me at once, and though I had rested, my body still felt as though it belonged in a different rhythm.

When I unlocked the door of our home, the familiar scent of cedar and fabric greeted me. Julian had beaten me there. He had left a vase of flowers on the table, pale pink roses that opened toward the window. I smiled at ...