I settled into the guest room, a small room at the end of the hall with a window that overlooked a dark alley. I hung Henry’s photographs on the wall, neatly arranged my gray dresses in the closet, and tried to make myself invisible. That was my new role: existing without being in the way.

Mornings began early. I got up at six, brewed coffee, made breakfast—scrambled eggs, toast, freshly squeezed orange juice. Robert came down first, always in a hurry, always looking at his phone.

“Thanks, Mom,” he would mumble without looking up.

Dawn appeared later, wrapped in a green silk robe, her hair perfectly styled even at that hour. She sat at the table and scrutinized every detail of my work with critical eyes.