e?" Sarah Miller asked, her voice echoi

ITCHEN, BOOKS, MEMORIES. Tomorrow, they were moving. A new life in a new

t at the dining table, the single piece of furnit

tress of his work. David was a brilliant architect, and brilliance, she had learne

d. Your grandmother

t' s handl

d there for a moment, an unpacked photo album in her hands, feeling like a ghost in her own home

. About the move. It'

se his head. His phone buzzed on the table, a s

he said, his voice al

ouldn' t hear the words, but she saw his posture change. The tension in his shoulders e

ame on the screen. Lisa, the brilliant neurosurgeon. Lisa, his childhoo

ng, young and impossibly happy. Tucked behind it was an older, faded picture she' d found once in his desk drawer. A teenage David with a girl with serious

genuine, unguarded smile that hurt her to see because it wasn't for her. The phon

said, not sounding sorr

manila folder toward her. "I need you to sign

sked, picking it up.

tional transfer of our assets. Liability waivers

impatiently. "It' s the last t

ried, the man she believed was still in there somewhere. She opened the folder. The pages were dense with

marked with small yellow arrow

n' t need to read t

his voice low. "It' s just a forma

that trust. She signed each page where the arrows pointed. Sarah Miller. He

expression unreadable. He stood up and put it in

office for a few hours.

' s almos

kiss her goodbye. He didn' t even look at her as he walked o

stood in the middle of the living room, surrounded by the neatly packed pieces of her life. She reached down and touched the box labeled MEMORI