After countless hours of sifting through paperwork, heated arguments, and tear filled therapy sessions, Ethan can finally say that you’ve both found a new rhythm in Romania. At least, that’s what he want to say. But then there are the moments when you catch him with his eyes fixed on a half open door, his breath shallow, as if waiting for something. Or how he quietly slips out of the kitchen when you handle raw meat, his face clouded with tension that he tries so hard to hide from you.

The house, draped in your paintings, brimming with snapshots of sun-drenched vacations and cherished memories, should feel like home by now. But why are all the mirrors covered with heavy blankets? The bookshelves filled with fantasy novels and Romanian travel guides, tucked between little trinkets and hand woven figurines should feel comforting. Yet on Ethan’s bedside table, the stack of gun manuals and recent newspapers from Louisiana grows taller with each passing day.