“I brought my silver-framed photo of Emma,” I said, pulling the heavy frame out of my blue tote bag. “I thought it would look nice on the middle shelf.”
Robert walked over, took the photo from my hands, and turned it over to examine the stand.
“The silver is too bright,” he said, placing it back on the packing box. “It distracts from the uniformity of the book spines.”
“It is just a photograph of my daughter,” I said.
“The hallway table would be better,” he said, his voice flat. “Or your dresser in the bedroom.”
He walked into the hallway, his leather shoes clicking on the polished wood.
I followed him, carrying a stack of paperbacks. In the narrow corridor near the bathroom stood a tall, gray metal filing cabinet with a heavy brass padlock hanging from the top drawer latch.
“Where should I put these?” I asked, gesturing to the books.
“The living room is for reading material,” he said, not looking at the cabinet. “The hallway must remain clear.”
“What do you keep in there?” I asked, looking at the padlock.
