The couch still held the imprint of two bodies. The gray knit throw was twisted in a heap at one end. I picked it up with two fingers and immediately smelled her. Powder, vanilla, betrayal. I put it into a trash bag, tied it shut, and set it near the garage door because I could not stand the idea of washing it like it deserved care.
The wineglass remained on the coffee table.
The lipstick mark showed more clearly in morning light.
I lifted the glass with a paper towel, photographed it from several angles, then set it back. I was not collecting trophies. I was collecting options.
In the hallway closet, I pulled the important-documents binder. Caleb had always liked that binder. He said it made us feel like adults. He never maintained it; I did. Mortgage, insurance, car titles, marriage certificate, dog vaccination records, appliance warranties. I scanned everything with my phone and uploaded it to the new folder.