The shell bowl—gone.
The warmth—gone.

Replaced with something cold and staged.

The house hadn’t just been changed.

It had been erased.

Piece by piece.

I moved through the rooms slowly.

The kitchen still faced the ocean—but the details that mattered were gone.

Upstairs was worse.

My mother’s room—unrecognizable.
Her chair—missing.
Her quilt—gone.

Then my room.

Still there.

Until I opened the closet.

Empty.

The cedar chest was gone.

For a second, I couldn’t breathe.

“Evelyn.”

She was there instantly.
“What’s missing?”

“My mother’s chest.”

Diana’s voice echoed from the hallway.
“If you’re about to accuse me—”

“Where is it?” I cut in.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I didn’t look at her.

I looked at Madeline.

She looked away.