went inside.
I will not describe all of it. A full inventory would take longer than the story deserves, and the separate pieces of trash matter less than the weight of walking through a place you have tended and finding it treated as disposable.
There were cups on every surface.
The handmade pillows from the couch, the ones Frances had sewn herself, had been used as seat cushions on the lawn and brought back muddy.
The kitchen.
The kitchen was the worst.
The kitchen where the pancakes had been made
