Chapter 8: The Clearing of the Rooms
When Sterling’s SUV sped away down the gravel driveway, the house did not erupt in celebration. Instead, a heavy, cleansing exhaustion settled over the rooms.
Helena walked into the kitchen, picked up a roll of packing tape, and began slicing through the tape on the boxes labeled *'Kitchen - China.'*
David stepped beside her, picking up a stack of porcelain plates. ""What are you doing?""
""I am unpacking,"" Helena said.
David hesitated for a second, then reached into the box, taking out the matching teacups and placing them carefully onto the wooden shelves where they had sat for three decades.
Amanda walked in moments later. She didn't say a word. She took off her tailored blazer, rolled up the sleeves of her silk blouse, and began unpacking the spice racks.
For three hours, the three of them worked in absolute silence. It was not the hostile silence of estrangement, but the sacred, focused silence of people rebuilding an altar that had been desecrated by neglect.
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Arthur joined them at two o'clock, carrying a toolbox from the basement. He went from room to room, tightening loose doorknobs, replacing blown fuses, and oiling the squeaking hinges of the front door—performing the humble penance of an old man who had finally put down his lies.
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