That afternoon, she took out the original plans rolled in a brittle tube at the back of a cupboard, paper yellowed and delicate. The layout was slightly different then: a storeroom where the guest room now stood, a narrower landing, no fitted wardrobes. Between Emma’s room and the neighboring space, a rectangle had been neatly inked, then crossed out.
There was a handwritten note in the margin, almost illegible. The year 1946 stood out clearly. The rest blurred, faded by time and handling. Lucy traced the lines with her finger, feeling a strange disorientation. The house she walked through each day did not entirely match the house that had first been drawn and built.