“You’ll die alone in this empty house, Iris.”

I stepped back and pulled the front door wide, letting the cool Ohio night in. “No, Melissa. My mother almost did. Drive safe.”

I shut the door softly. The click of the latch was the sound of something being removed cleanly.

At nine the locksmith put two sets of new keys in my palm. I turned the deadbolt. It was the most peaceful mechanical sound I’d heard in six years.

My phone buzzed. Executed. Every line. — TB.

June and I spent the next hour carrying my mother’s boxes out of the laundry room and up the staircase, putting her back where she belonged. Her wedding photograph went on the dresser in the master suite.