It took her over an hour to pack up his room, all the mementos and silly things he loved, his old favorite teddy bear, which he still slept with at thirteen but pretended he didn’t. He was just a boy, a little kid, and they had killed him. The police had said he hadn’t suffered and she hoped it was true. He had been shot in his father’s arms, with Matthieu trying to protect him, and then they had shot Matthieu. The cruelty of it was beyond belief, and being in Axel’s room now brought every moment of it back to her again. It was why she never could have kept the château, not with memories like this like a stake in her heart.

The room looked barren and empty when she had packed everything. She stood glancing around for a last time, wanting to be sure she hadn’t missed anything. She had even packed his toothbrush and toothpaste. The bed had been stripped a year before, or she would have taken the sheets too, hoping to get some lingering scent of him on the pillow, but it was gone by then.

She walked slowly down the stairs with a heavy heart, her memories trailing along behind her, and she went back to her own room, feeling exhausted, as she had last time, but this time she wasn’t confused. Every memory was etched in exquisite agony, his voice, his smile, his laughter when they played together. She had taught him how to ride a bike, how to throw a baseball and a football, and Matthieu had taught him how to swim. A whole little life ready to launch into the world one day, and now he was a bright, shining star up in Heaven somewhere. She liked to believe that he was watching her and always near, since he had been only a child when he died. She hoped that there was a special place in Heaven for him.

She saw that her own dressing room was empty, as well as Matthieu’s, the boxes waiting to be taken downstairs and loaded onto the truck. And then she went down to the main floor to see how the movers were doing with the art. They were handling the paintings less gently than she would have liked. They had forgotten their gloves again, and the shoe coverings they were supposed to wear to protect the antique rugs from their rough, muddy boots. There were six of them, moving slowly, and not speaking to each other. She could see that there were five paintings already in wooden crates, and fourteen left to pack, some of them already off the walls and propped up around the living room.