Echoes of My Second Wife

house for five minutes, and

h had been replaced by pale gray tones. No, it was something deeper, someth

once proudly displayed abov

st time I was home-nearly a year ago-the painting was still there, th

s voice echoed do

different-shaved, sharply dressed, standing taller than I remembered.

ul for this house. She wore a sleek cream-colored dress a

d a second glance, but her eyes... they

r fingers were long and manicured, her voice soft with jus

efore I could stop myself, shaking her ha

been dying to meet you. We've both b

pt flicking back to the fire

he portrait was old. It didn't go with

i

barely co

I said evenly, trying to keep my

n in place. "But it's just a picture. Your moth

etheart, why don't you take Ava's bag up to the guest

ded, reaching for my suitcase, and ca

't asked where the guest roo

ew curtains. No sign of the dusty books or the lavend

I could still see the garden-my mother's favorite place. But even that had changed. Th

to cry. Another pa

soft knock

epped in, holding

shing," she said, placing it on the side

a tight smi

pause. She d

u," she began. "Losing a mother

ere was something in her to

s," I said. "And you've chang

uilding something new. Your f

was her peac

n-just for a second-before she cover

ng to the door, "I do h

ave and close th

ie

li

I wasn't here to start a war. But I was here

have looked new-but something old an

ended to