The blue ceramic mug Marcus had used still sat on the counter, the tea inside now cold and dark.
I reached out and touched the edge of the blue passbook, its empty pages representing a record we no longer shared.
The quiet screen of the laptop showing a balance that did not make sense.
I needed the double-A batteries for the silver flashlight we kept on top of the refrigerator, but the small plastic pack was not in the kitchen utility drawer. I walked down the short hallway to the home office, where the late autumn sun was cutting a sharp yellow diagonal across Troy’s desk. The house was completely silent, the kind of quiet that makes you notice the hum of your own refrigerator from three rooms away.
