The house was completely silent.

It wasn’t the heavy, threatening silence of my old apartment.

It was the peaceful quiet of a place that belonged entirely to me.

I walked back to the kitchen island and reached into the cardboard box one last time.

My hand found the delicate, cold surface of the porcelain angel.

I lifted the small figure out of the box and wiped a speck of dust from its painted wings.

Underneath the angel lay the muddy blue passbook.