The nights she had heard his footsteps creaking overhead, his long hours of pacing that ended in silence when the rest of the house was asleep. As a child she had once crept up the stairs and pressed her ear to the wood, straining to catch even a whisper. She had imagined treasure then, or maybe tools too dangerous for children.
Now, standing inside at last, she knew it was neither. Whatever he had hidden here, it was heavier than things. She hesitated to move forward, almost expecting him to appear in the doorway, to scold her as he once had. The thought made her pulse quicken. She was no longer a child, yet the old fear returned, mingling with grief in a way that hollowed her out.