Inside, the house smelled like coffee, cedarwood, and the cinnamon mints he kept tucked into every jacket pocket. Michael instinctively headed for the kitchen because grief makes people search for tasks. Mara pulled out photo albums. Noah stood in the center of the living room crying quietly in the way men do when they’ve spent years learning how to hold everything in.
The porch light was still glowing.
Susan sat on the couch with the locket resting in both hands.
“I hated him for so long,” she admitted.
