I saw the spots on the floor where our sofa had been, where Harrison had learned to crawl.

I walked up the stairs to the second floor.

Harrison’s nursery was empty, the walls painted a soft, pale blue.

The built-in shelves where his books had sat were bare.

I went up the narrow stairs to the attic.

In the corner, I found the small box I was looking for.

Inside was a stuffed bear with a missing eye and a wooden train set.

I carried the box down the stairs.

As I reached the foyer, I saw the front door was open.

Julian was standing in the doorway.

He had driven back from the storage unit.

He looked at the empty foyer, his eyes wide.

“They took the chandelier,” he said, his voice hollow.

“It was my mother’s,” I said. “It was in the agreement.”

Julian walked slowly into the center of the room.

He looked around, his head turning from side to side.

“There’s nothing left,” he said.

“No,” I said. “There isn’t.”

He sat down on the bottom step of the grand staircase.