1. The Eviction
The house felt wrong. Colder. Sharper. Just hours ago, it had been filled with the somber murmur of mourners paying respects to my husband, Mark, a firefighter who had died a hero, pulling a child from a burning building only to succumb to the smoke himself. Now, the silence wasn’t peaceful; it was hollow, hostile. I stood in the foyer, numb with a grief so profound it felt like a physical weight, exhaustion clinging to me like the scent of funeral lilies still lingering in the air.
That’s when I heard it. The distinct, metallic click-clack of a lock being changed.
I turned towards the front door. Mark’s father, Mr. Miller, stood there, a locksmith packing away his tools beside him. Mr. Miller’s face, usually stern but fair, was now a mask of cold, unreadable granite. He didn’t meet my eyes.
“What… what are you doing?” I stammered, confusion momentarily piercing through the fog of my grief.
From the living room, Mark’s mother and brother emerged. They weren’t looking at me either…