The last adhesive marks took longer to remove than the dust.

Christopher helped without turning the task into a symbolic apology.

He held the frame steady while I worked, then took his turn with the cloth.

The earring that had started everything rested in its usual place at the vanity.

It became an earring again.

The letters were stored with the family papers.

The contingency planning had a proper folder.

Timothy’s photograph stood where we could see it, not because I needed a reminder of what had happened, but because he was someone we knew.