Two movers unlatched the back door of the truck and set a heavy metal ramp down against the asphalt.

I stood on the front porch, wrapped in a dark green wool sweater, and watched them go inside through the unlocked side door.

They carried out Daniel’s oak desk, his swivel office chair, his filing cabinet, and four sealed storage boxes from the garage workbench.

Ava stood near the wooden driveway fence, twirling her right sneaker shoelace around her index finger while looking down at the gravel.

She was wearing her white sneakers, the soles scuffed gray along the rubber edges from weeks of track practice.