She had no idea how much time had passed. Her family remained locked together, their knees on the cool tile of the foyer floor. They spoke some. Words that could never be enough. Prayers that could never be answered. Fears that only time could slowly soften. In time, though, maybe weeks, or months, or maybe years, they would realize that only two things could help them lift up from their grief. The first they could never control. Instead, it would march forward one way or another. They might perceive it as seconds or years, but eventually time would heal, given the chance.
The second thing, the more important one, they had already. They were together. They had each other. And though one was missing, his absence would never come between them. On the contrary, it would bind them even deeper.
Yet life, as Julia had just learned, did not exist in a bubble. For, before the sun dipped toward that afternoon, as the Swanns held each other with all the strength they had left, a knock came to their front door.
Julia stirred. At first, she thought it would be a well-meaning neighbor. As word of Michael’s innocence spread, they would return, needing to assuage their own perceived guilt. Yet even before she stood, she sensed this was different. Voices rose, two, three, maybe four. And another knock rattled the door.
She rose. Evan touched her hand, as if asking her to stop. But she couldn’t. She had to know.
Julia walked across the foyer. Her hand touched the handle. She turned it, taking in what felt like a final breath. As the door opened, she saw people, maybe half a dozen, maybe more. Every face was a stranger to her. Some looked polished and vacant. Others looked rough and disheveled. They stared at her with unabashed obsession and a strange ownership. Like she and her family now belonged, in some heartbreaking way, to them.
“Mrs. Swann, Mrs. Swann.”
She didn’t answer. Over their shoulders, she saw the same news vans that had surrounded her house just the day before. They were back.
“Mrs. Swann, how does it feel?”
Her legs felt weak. Why would they ask a question like that? She stared into their hungry eyes as they thrust microphones in her face.
“Have you seen it? The video. How does it feel knowing your husband is a hero?”
It made no sense. As she stood there, aghast, more vans approached. They surrounded her house. Waves of people pushed in on Julia and her family, feet scurrying as if they raced to see who could touch her first.
“The video,” another said. “It’s gone viral. Everyone’s seen it. He found the bomb. He tried to get it out of the station. He’s a hero, Mrs. Swann. A hero.”
The first thing Julia did was blink. It was a slow close of her eyes, as if she hoped that maybe, as they reopened, all this would be gone. But it wasn’t. Instead, even more people approached.
Slowly, carefully, Julia stepped back. Her fingers touched the edge of the front door.
“Don’t you have a comment? It’s amazing. Everyone wants—”
Julia simply closed the door.