The runner that had hidden the water stains on the table, gone; the plants on the sills, gone, leaving pale rings of dust.
In the kitchen the knife block had gaps in it like a missing tooth, stripped of the blades I’d bought, and the spice rack stood empty.
In the hallway, my boxes waited in a neat row, each labeled in my own hand: Lorna’s clothing.
Lorna’s premarital property.
Kitchenware purchased by Lorna.
Lorna’s documents.
Marlene burst off the elevator, shoving past Yvette.
“This is my son’s home!
Who authorized you to break in?”
The moving foreman didn’t look up from his clipboard.