It had already been four months since my beloved Jim passed away, and only now did I find the strength to gather his things and move them to the attic. The house had been so quiet without him, and every corner seemed to whisper memories of our life together.
His favorite chair by the window still faced the garden he loved so much. Sometimes, I caught myself glancing at it, expecting to see him there, quietly reading the paper or watching the birds.
But it was all an illusion, one that brought me comfort and pain. It felt like he had just stepped out to the store for his favorite milk or was tending to the roses he planted last spring.
But I knew that wasn’t true. Jim was gone, and no amount of pretending could bring him back. Casey had been after me for weeks to pack away his things.
