“Look, I’m moving my boxes out of the condo this weekend,” Ethan said.

“I need to stay here at the farmhouse for a while.

I can’t be in the city right now.”

“Your room is always ready for you,” I said.

By ten o’clock the sun stretched across the hardwood floor of the living room.

Dust drifted in the bright shafts of light.

Ethan carried a small cardboard box down from his childhood bedroom.

He had moved back in late the night before with just two suitcases and his work laptop.