The heavy black iron Singer was shoved into the far corner under a blue plastic tarp.

Her clear plastic bins full of flowered cottons and spools of thread were stacked four high against the closet wall, leaving just enough space for the bedroom door to open halfway.

In the middle of the pale oak floor lay a clean twin mattress right on the boards, made up with a fresh yellow fitted sheet and two white pillows stacked neatly at the head.

“I cleared it out while you were at Vance’s office this morning,” Sarah said.