sat a plate with two grilled cheese sandwiches and a bowl of soup—not canned this time. Homemade. I could tell from the herbs floating on top.

The air carried the scent of lemon cleaner and fresh bread.

At first, I thought I had stepped into the wrong apartment. Then I wondered if someone had broken in. But Caleb’s crooked drawing was still taped to the fridge, and my chipped mug sat on the counter. My chest tightened.

The living room was… in order. Not staged — still …