When I first moved in, I had big plans to strip down my life and rebuild. I wanted to transform myself into a whole new person, a wholesome person. Someone with a sense of adventure, a can-do spirit. The kind of girl who could gut renovate a historic townhouse by herself. I’d wear tall green wellies, cover my hair with a red bandanna, and plant cucumbers in the soil. I’d get a rescue puppy named Bo and tie a matching bandanna around his neck. Neighbors would stop by for vodka tonics and salted nuts on the deck. We’d grill steaks and watch the sun set while the kids lit sparklers. Later, after the house emptied out, and the children were home safe in their beds, I’d walk Bo around the block, taking in the quiet neighborhood.

Reality set in. Needing a place fast, I settled for the familiar, a luxury rental in East Rock with a pool, gym, and yoga studio. A few grad students live here, but I haven’t met any of them. I’m rusty at small talk and faking good cheer. This is when I most miss Marcus, a man who could capture a room simply by stepping in it. He was funny, sarcastic, and terrifically entertaining, always coming up with new activities to do on the sly. We’d pretend to bump into each other at MoMA and study the art, sneaking sweet kisses around corners when no one was looking. In movie theaters, we luxuriated in each other under cover of darkness. Once we went to a hotel in Greenwich, where he kicked my ass in Scrabble. We swam in the overly chlorinated pool and drank red wine in bed. It was the first time I’d ever woken up next to a man besides my brothers, and despite a bit of awkwardness (bathroom smells, body fluids), it was glorious. When I was with Marcus, my world grew bigger, the sky was infinite.

My life in New Haven, by contrast, is empty of people and things. I’ve gotten used to it; I even enjoy it at moments, despite my family’s skepticism. “You’ll be back in two weeks,” Lawrence had said when he helped move me in last year. He wasn’t being mean, merely shocked I had left, and so quickly. “You’re our Forever Girl.”

“This is my life now. I’m not coming back.”

“If and when you do, you’ll always have a place with us, Cass.” Again, this wasn’t discouragement; it was concern. What I told Haggerty is true: Lawrence is an overprotective father, like many parents of his generation. Of course, how much care is too much care remains up for debate.