The twenty-ninth-floor hallway looked exactly as it had before.
Soft carpet.
Silver wall sconces.
Quiet music drifting from the elevator speakers.
But I could still picture my suitcase leaning against the wall.
My clothes scattered near the service door.
The photograph of my grandparents lying facedown.
I stood outside Unit 2902.
Then took a breath.
Monica glanced toward me.
“Ready?”
I nodded.
“Yes.”
We entered.
The condo was quiet.
Sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows.
The skyline stretched beyond the balcony.
My furniture was still there.
Most of my belongings remained inside.
But several rooms had been rearranged.
My home office had been disturbed.
The drawer where I kept important documents was empty.
The photograph of my grandparents was missing its original frame.
And the bedroom still smelled faintly of Marjorie’s perfume.
I walked slowly through the rooms.
Then stopped beside the kitchen island.
This was where Adrian and I had eaten breakfast for six years.
