It would only make the house emptier.
In the end, I took the furniture from my bedroom, the antique sideboard that had belonged to Arthur’s mother, two lamps, my desk, one sofa, one armchair, a small television, several boxes of kitchenware I had brought from Illinois, my grandmother’s dishes, and the Italian coffee maker.
I stood in front of that machine longer than I should have.
Then I put a red sticker on it.
Luis raised an eyebrow.
“That one matters?”
“More than it should.”
By ten thirty, the truck was full.
The house looked different, but not stripped.
There were empty spaces.
That was all.
Spaces.
I walked through each room once more.
Daniel’s framed family photograph remained on the mantel.
The children’s school pictures stayed on the staircase wall.
Rebecca’s cookbooks sat neatly beside the stove.
Nothing had been damaged.
Nothing had been hidden.
