One carton was labeled “Arthur Office.”
Another carried the words “Parents’ Bedroom Permanent.”
Permanent.
Evelyn stared at that word.
It was incompatible with everything Daniel had told her.
She turned the screen toward him.
He read the label and stepped back, looking as though he’d suddenly become ill.
“I didn’t know that,” he murmured.
Claire quickly moved closer.
“My father writes like that to stay organized. It doesn’t mean anything.”
Evelyn advanced to another photograph.
An antique desk had been carefully wrapped in protective plastic.
Arthur intended to install that desk in Henry’s former office.
It was the same room where Evelyn still kept her late husband’s hat hanging behind the door.
The thought of strangers rearranging that private space made her chest tighten.
“Does that mean nothing either?” she asked.
Claire remained silent.
Daniel turned toward his wife.
“They were going to move into my father’s office?”
