toward the narrow little room at the end of the hall, the one Patricia and I had used for storage when we were still married and still young enough to believe the house would always hold us both.
I followed as far as my body would let me.
The incision under my shirt pulled tight.
The walls seemed too close.
Then I looked into my bedroom and saw unfamiliar bedding on my mattress.
Cassie’s perfume bottles were lined across Patricia’s old dresser.
Women’s shoes sat along the baseboard where my work boots used to be.
My old reading lamp had been moved.
The framed photo of Patricia on our wedding day was gone.
For a moment, I honestly could not make my mind arrange what I was seeing.
Then Ryan spoke.
“We figured you’d want to be closer to the bathroom anyway, Dad,” he said. “Your new room is down
