The first week of being "nobody" felt like learning to breathe underwater. The silence of the redwood coast was heavy, a physical weight that pressed against the eardrums. There were no pings from high-frequency trading algorithms, no frantic whispers from stylists, and no cold, calculated directives from the Wolfe board. There was only the rhythmic thud of the Pacific and the occasional cry of a gull.
I stood on the wraparound porch of the cottage, a mug of bitter black coffee clutched in my hands. The morning mist was thick, a wall of white wool that hid the cliffside and the road. It felt like the world ended at the edge of the timber deck.
Inside, I could hear the domestic sounds of a life I hadn't been built for. The clatter of a cast-iron skillet. The low, melodic murmur of Ethan t
