Brandon was nowhere in the photo.

Under the picture, Margaret had typed a brief note: *Keys dropped on my desk at noon.

All parties have signed the closing documents.

The buyers take formal possession Friday.*

I put the phone face down beside my cold coffee mug and looked over the balcony railing at the tide washing against the rocks along the shore.

The six-bedroom house on the lake wasn’t ours anymore, and the quiet of the seaside apartment felt whole.

At a quarter past four, the little brass knocker on my front door sounded twice.