My old wool coat hung alone on the rod.

Lucas’s parka was gone, Gemma’s puffer was gone, the children’s snow pants were gone from the shelf.

“All of it?” Helen asked.

“Every coat but mine.”

I got down on one knee and looked under the bench.

A single blue mitten sat in the corner, small enough for a child’s hand.

I left it there.

“The hook by the door is empty too,” I said.