The massive double crib that had dominated the space near the bay window was gone.

The playpens, the swing sets, the formula dispensers, the leaning towers of diaper boxes, all of the sprawling apparatus of infant survival that had colonized every surface of our home, was simply, cleanly, gone.

Even the air smelled different.

Not like baby powder and damp towels and the particular sour note of a house where no one has time to clean, but like lavender, and fresh wood polish, and order.

“Evelyn?” he called, his voice echoing off the stark, calm walls.