He pried off a small section of trim near the floor and scraped out a little dust and debris. “See?” he said, holding up what might have been old droppings. “Probably rats. I’d set a few traps, maybe get pest control if it keeps up.” The word rats oddly comforted her.
That evening, after Emma was asleep, Lucy set two traps along the base of the wall, hands steady. There was a kind of relief in it—a clear problem, a practical solution. The house shrank back to something manageable: timber, pipes, pests. Nothing that couldn’t be contained with time and effort.