Inside, the kitchen was clean.

The lemon magnet still held the little note.

Noah’s drawing remained on the refrigerator.

Evan had moved the sugar bowl back beside the salt, their edges aligned with the backsplash.

I looked at them and went upstairs without adjusting either one.

At five thirty, I found him folding shirts into an overnight bag.

He was doing it carefully, pressing each shirt flat before adding the next.

He had always packed well.