The hall dead-ended at the sitting room and then continued on to the left. Down that adjoining hallway was Matthew’s bedroom and, at the end, Josie’s room. She rarely took this path to her room when she was young. There was a back staircase that led directly from the kitchen to her bedroom, and she would rather go downstairs and up again than go past Matthew’s room. Sometimes there was no way to avoid it, and when this happened, she would guide herself along the wall with her eyes closed, playing blind. She made it a game.

Now, she stopped at the sitting room. It was one of the rooms that had not been redone, and she planted her feet outside the doorway and looked. It was exactly the same as when she left—the pale blue carpet, the large white armchair, the dark wood chest—but now it seemed even smaller than she remembered. She stepped inside and felt draped in wet towels. She was silly to think her heart would be washed clean, the marble disintegrated simply because there was no one to see it. It was hers, attached like a tetherball firmly to her heart. It would belong to her forever, and ever, and ever. She sat down in the armchair and let her drink fall from her hand. It spilled onto her black skirt and thudded to the floor, and she curled up in the chair and closed her eyes tightly.