Elise and Daniel came briefly to help sort through the formalities, their faces tight with the efficiency of people who wanted grief scheduled into tidy hours before returning to their own lives. It fell to Miriam to decide what to do with their father’s things. Elise admitted she couldn’t bear to sift through them; Daniel, ever pragmatic, said, “Just donate or sell what you don’t want.”
To them, the house was little more than a shell now, its memories too sharp to linger in. Miriam couldn’t move so bluntly. Every room hummed with absence but also with secrets. The armchair still held the faint scent of tobacco, a crossword puzzle lay unfinished by the lamp, and slippers were tucked neatly under the bed as though he might shuffle back in at any moment.