My father carried empty boxes upstairs.

My mother made toast because I had not eaten.

They did not pack anything until I showed them what was mine to take.

I gathered personal records, clothes, photographs, and the small objects I could not bear to leave available for someone else to sort through.

The rest could wait until I had advice.

I left the room where I had stored Zachary’s polished things and went to the study I used for my own accounts.

There was more to my life than the work I had done for him.