The days that followed were still, almost unnervingly so. The quiet that once hurt her now began to feel… clean. Helen woke early, made her coffee, and read by the window instead of waiting for the sound of a car in the driveway. The ache of habit remained, the reflex to check her phone, the urge to plan meals for small hands that weren’t coming, but she no longer fought it.
By the second week, the house began to feel like hers again. She aired out the guest room, washed the children’s sheets, and folded them neatly into the closet. She repotted her dying fern. Even fixed the loose hinge on the pantry door David had promised to handle months ago.