I want to look.”

The books were on the shelves.

The curtains I had closed before surgery hung where I left them.

A plant by the window needed attention, but it was alive.

I touched a leaf.

For months, I had thought about the house as an asset, a parcel, a disputed transfer, a claim.

Those words had been necessary.

None described what it was like to know where to reach for a glass without looking.