Until the banging started.
It was a Sunday afternoon. I was rinsing a plate when something scraped loudly against the stairwell wall outside.
A man’s voice said, “Careful with the corner,” followed by a soft laugh from a woman.
I wiped my hands and looked out the window.
Something scraped loudly against the stairwell wall outside.
A young family was moving in. A dark-haired woman directed the movers while holding a clipboard. A little girl, no older than eighteen months, toddled near the steps with a pink stuffed rabbit clutched in her fist.
A man lifted the end of a couch and maneuvered it through the doorway with practiced ease.
For a brief moment, something twisted in my chest. That could have been Ron and me.
Then the man glanced up toward my window, and my entire body went cold. He had Ron’s signature haircut, Ron’s eyes, and mouth; he could have been a slightly aged version of my husband…
The man glanced up toward my window.
I stepped back from the window and knocked a glass onto the floor.
“Get it together,” I whispered.
Footsteps echoed up the stairwell, slow and heavy. I stepped into the hallway before I could talk myself out of it.
The man reached the top step carrying the little girl on his hip. He stopped in front of the apartment next to mine and shifted her weight while pulling keys from his pocket.
