The house smelled like floor cleaner and loneliness. I had spent the whole afternoon cleaning every corner, ironing my son Daniel’s shirts, folding my grandchildren’s clothes. My hands still smelled like bleach.
I picked up the phone thinking maybe it was my son saying they were on their way, that there was a spot for me at that table where they were celebrating. But no. It was a text from Emily, my daughter-in-law.
