The bed I had shared with Gavin was gone.

The walls looked strangely large.

I opened the window.

Rain had stopped, and the air smelled of grass.

There was no sudden feeling of victory.

I stood there with tears on my cheeks and thought of the years we had been happy, or believed we were.

I let myself grieve those years without treating grief as a command to return.

Then I called a painter and asked for a quote to turn the room into a library and work space.