They carried the cardboard boxes out to the large yellow truck parked in the driveway.

The house looked different without our things.

The living room was just a white box with dust motes floating in the shafts of afternoon light.

I walked up the stairs to the master bedroom.

Ethan’s suits were still hanging in the closet.

I called the local charity shop and told them they could have everything that remained in the house.

By five o’clock, the truck was loaded.

The driver handed me a clipboard to sign.

“That’s the last of it, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you,” I said.

I signed the form and watched the truck pull away down the quiet, tree-lined street.

I walked through the empty rooms, checking the locks on the windows.

I stood in the kitchen and looked at the granite countertops where Linda had once sat and told me how to manage my money.

I felt nothing but a distant sense of pity.

I went out to the front porch, locked the heavy wooden door, and dropped the key into the lockbox for the new owners.