Unity wanted to say it was everyone else—that she was the victim here and the whole world should get off her back. But she couldn’t help thinking, she was the one person both situations had in common, and if she accepted that premise, then wasn’t it possible that she was the problem, not her friends?

She retraced her steps, coming to a stop in what had been the master bedroom. After Stuart’s mother had died, he and Unity had flown back to Willowbrook to take care of the funeral arrangements. Stuart had gone through her things, donating her clothes and cleaning out the bedroom.

At the time Unity had told him all that could wait. They could handle it when they moved back after his twenty years in the army were up. He’d said it was easier to do it then. It helped him accept she was gone. Plus, when they came back permanently, they would have kids and dealing with the move and cleaning out the master would be too much for them to take on. He’d mentioned taking a week or so of his leave later in the year to clean out the other two bedrooms.

They’d ended up going to Australia instead, promising each other they would be back the following year. Only then Stuart had been killed and when Unity had retreated to the house where he’d grown up, the last thing she’d wanted to do was make any changes.

She turned in a slow circle, taking in the bare walls, the worn carpet. The whole house needed painting, she thought absently. She ducked into the master bath and looked at the old-fashioned sink and the bright green tiles in the small shower.

A gut job was the only solution, she admitted, looking at the patterned linoleum flooring. A neutral tile would make the space look bigger. Using the same tile in the shower and on the floor would help, too. She could do a lot of the work herself. The guys would help her with the demo and she could handle the plumbing. She was less sure of her tile skills, so could hire out that part.

The remodel might be a good project for her. She could fix up the bathroom and the bedroom, then maybe move in here, instead of staying in Stuart’s room. That would be a step forward. Progress that could get her friends off her back.

Feeling better than she had in a while, she left the master, went into the small study and sat at her desk. She got an empty folder out of a drawer and labeled it “Master bath” and made a few notes. When she’d put the folder in her current jobs tray, she got out her phone.

Are we still speaking?

She sent the text to Dagmar. Seconds later, she had an answer.

Funny you should ask that.

Her doorbell rang.