“Your grandmother used to say a marriage without shared papers is just two people renting the same room,” Evelyn said softly.

She reached out and rubbed my shoulder again, her thumb pressing into the tired muscle near my neck.

“Come inside and let me pack you some soup.”

“I have to check the mail at home,” I said, stepping back toward the stairs.

I drove back to our two-story house on Sycamore Lane as the sky turned gray above the oak trees.

The house was cold when I unlocked the front door.