“I’m not sure I can resist fancy Scotch.”

She got out the bottle and a glass for him, then mixed herself a vodka and tonic.

“Let’s go outside,” she said. “If it’s too hot for drinks, then we’ll move back inside.”

She led the way through the small dining room, down two steps into the family room.

“This used to be part of the patio,” she told him. “It was closed in about twenty-five years ago.” She looked around at the big room with the sagging sofas and old recliners. “There is a sense of going back in time here, so brace yourself.”

Instead of responding, Thaddeus crossed to a table in the far corner of the room. A table that was so familiar, she didn’t even notice it anymore. A table covered with framed photographs of Stuart and his family and her wedding to Stuart.

Thaddeus studied them for nearly a minute before picking up a picture of Stuart right after he’d finished basic training. He looked impossibly young in his uniform—but also proud and happy. There was another picture of her clinging to his arm as they both smiled at the camera.

Thaddeus looked at the wedding photos, lingering on one of just her.

“You were a beautiful bride,” he said quietly.

Her stomach twisted as she watched him. She knew this was really bad, even though she couldn’t articulate why. They were just pictures. Thaddeus knew she’d been married before, so there weren’t any surprises. But the sense of dread only grew.

Finally he looked at her. “You said this is your house.” A statement, not a question.

She nodded. “Stuart’s mom died a few years back, leaving it to him.”

“And he left it to you.”

She nodded again.

He walked back to the kitchen and put down his drink. After looking at the living room, he stepped into the hallway.

She followed him, even though she knew what he would see. The wall of photographs marking the passage of Stuart’s life.

Thaddeus studied each one before glancing around at the doors leading off the hallway. Only one was closed. He reached for the handle.

Her protest died unspoken. She didn’t want him going in there, didn’t want him to see, but knew there was no point in trying to stop him. The damage had been done. Seeing Stuart’s room would only confirm what he’d already guessed.

Thaddeus walked into the bedroom she used. She stayed where she was, able to know what he was seeing from her own memories. The posters on the wall, the trophies in the bookcase. In the closet he would find her clothes commingled with Stuart’s. She slept in his bed, wore his T-shirts as pajamas and left her hairbrush on a dresser next to an old signed baseball he’d always treasured.

Tears filled her eyes. She let them fall, the trail branding her. She’d been so sure, she thought sadly. She’d convinced herself that she’d moved on, that she’d healed, but she hadn’t. Not really. The things she’d done were just a facade. The truth was there for Thaddeus to see. He wouldn’t even have to look very hard.