Chapter 3 — Three Pairs of Shoes

I kept my head down and walked past her into the foyer, and there, on the floor by the door, was the first hard evidence that my house had become something I did not recognize: three unfamiliar pairs of shoes, piled up, the shoes of strangers who lived here.

Three pairs of shoes.

In my mother’s house.

My mother, who lived alone, who had no roommates, who had this whole house to herself precisely so that she could grow old in peace and space and dignity.

“And your mother?” I asked, careful to disguise my voice, to keep it light and unfamiliar, the voice of a stranger making polite conversation.