Lydia followed me, her boots clicking sharply on the concrete.

“I need to go to the house,” I told Lydia when we reached the parking lot.

“Why?” she asked. “The movers have already cleared it.”

“I left some of Harrison’s old toys in the attic,” I said. “And I want to see it. One last time.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No,” I said. “I need to do this alone.”

I drove back to the wealthy suburb where we had lived.

The iron gates of the estate were open.

The driveway was covered in dry, brown leaves that swirled in the wind.

The massive colonial house stood quiet under the gray sky.

I unlocked the front door and stepped inside.

The smell of fresh paint and floor wax was gone.

Instead, the house smelled of nothing.

It was completely empty.

The grand foyer, where we had hosted parties for Julian’s clients, was just a vast expanse of polished wood.

My footsteps echoed loudly as I walked through the living room.

The large windows let in the cold afternoon light, highlighting the dust motes dancing in the air.