All the life she had
been allowed to keep fit into one corner.
I couldn’t speak.
Emma crossed the room and began folding a sweater.
“Don’t,” I said, too sharply.
She stopped.
I took a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I mean… you don’t have to pack like you’re sneaking out.”
She gave a small, sad smile. “I got used to moving quietly.”
I sat on the edge of the bed because my knees suddenly felt weak.
“How long?” I asked.
Emma looked at the sweater in her hands.
“At first, it wasn’t like this,” she said. “Not exactly.”
I waited.
“When you left, your mother said she wanted to help me adjust. She said the house was too much for one person to manage and that people would take advantage of me because I was inexperienced with money. I believed she meant well.”
