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So I started doing what needed to be done. I rolled up my sleeves, washed the smoke-soaked linens, organized canned goods into neat rows, and took the dogs on longer walks.<\/p>\n
He didn\u2019t talk much, but sometimes, from the doorway, he\u2019d watch me fold sheets and make comments.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou fold like my wife used to, Marisol.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cYou stir stew the same way my wife did.\u201d<\/p>\n
Another time, as I dusted the mantle, he stood there and looked at the clock.<\/p>\n
\u201cThat clock stopped the day my daughter died,\u201d he muttered. \u201cIt was\u2026 agonizing.\u201d<\/p>\n
I never knew what to say. I just listened.<\/p>\n
Then, one afternoon upstairs, while clearing out charred debris, I noticed something strange. The upper floor was mostly blackened and warped. But at the end of the hall stood a pair of wooden double doors.<\/p>\n
Untouched.<\/p>\n