“Good luck,” Suzette said to Hope. And she may have given Hope the once-over before she went back inside.

“Thanks,” said Hope, smiling—and not meaning it.

Hope and Danny watched Suzette go back inside. And they heard the weather stripping reseal itself as she pushed the door shut. And they watched the aluminum storm door slowly swing itself shut behind her.

They stared at the door.

And then Danny turned to Hope.

And he exhaled an apologetic smile.

Hope shrugged her shoulders and smiled. Even though she felt like crying. Because she couldn’t believe that it hadn’t even occurred to her that Danny may have moved on. And gotten married. And had kids. At least one of whom was a teenager.

And she couldn’t believe that it hadn’t occurred to her that she was the one who hadn’t moved on. Even though she thought she had. By trying to acquire and accomplish and achieve.

Danny inhaled sharply and seemed like he was about to say something.

But he didn’t say anything.

“What?” asked Hope, desperate to hear what he had to say.

“I, um…” He looked up at Hope. And then up at the sky, where the northern lights had appeared moments earlier.

“What?” Hope smiled, hoping that maybe Danny was going to say, “Let’s run away and start a life together.” And she felt that strange lightness fill up her insides again, in anticipation.

But then Danny said, “I hope you find it, Hope. Your place in this world. Or whatever it is you’re looking for.”

And the lightness inside Hope disappeared. And became heaviness and darkness.

And then Danny said, “Bye.”

And Hope said nothing as she watched the small man go up the stairs onto the porch and open the aluminum storm door and then the main wooden door and go inside.

She heard the door seal shut.

And she watched the storm door swing closed behind it.

“Goodbye, Danny,” she said to herself. And to him.

And she stared at the door for a while.

And then—twenty years too late—she answered him.

“Yes,” she called quietly.

Hope stared at the door for a while longer.

And then repeated, more quietly and more to herself, “Yes.”

And she stared at the door for a while longer.

And then the porch light went off.

And Hope grabbed the telescoping pull handle of her wheelie suitcase and started to go.

She passed the post lamp in the front yard and her movement triggered its sensor and it flickered on.

And when she got to the end of the driveway, she turned and looked at the tidy home one last time.

She pictured Danny and Allie playing chess. And she wondered if Emma would be home on time. Or after eleven. And what would happen if she was home late.

And then the post lamp in the front yard flicked off.

And then she turned to go but couldn’t see anything. Because it was so dark.

She waited for her eyes to adjust. And they did. But there was so little light.