---
(Back to John…)
The house door shut with the soft certainty of something that meant to keep weather out and warmth in. The little house held its breath, then exhaled — a clean breath, cedar and soap, the faint sweetness of tea leaves waiting for water.
"Show me how much you miss me," Sera said, not loudly. It sounded like she was asking the rooms for their names.
John set the kettle on the hob and coaxed a small blue flame to behave. He folded the shutters inward so evening could sit on the sill instead of shouldering its way in. Sera wandered the perimeter with careful steps, fingertips skimming the wall as if to learn the house's story through the paint.
"You were kind," she said, pausing by the table. "Even to the corners."
"They looked like they had been scolded for years," he said. "I wanted them to rest."
She smiled, the small one that started in her eyes. "We will rest them," she said.
