It startled both of them. Then Ruth laughed too, and the laughter dissolved into tears neither tried to hide.
They found the blue fabric in a sample envelope tucked inside Daniel’s desk.
There was enough information to order something close, though not identical.
Nora chose it herself.
They kept his worktable, moving it into the garden shed, where it could still be useful. They sorted the screws into jars and gave the tools Nora would never use to a neighborhood repair workshop.
The little pencils stayed in their mug.
By early summer, the back room held two recovered chairs, a bookshelf, and a round table just wide enough for tea.
Nora began spending part of her retirement there instead of merely guarding it.
Ruth visited on Thursdays. Sometimes she stayed for dinner. Sometimes she went home early because she wanted a quiet evening in her own apartment.
Nora loved that she could choose.
One Thursday, rain tapped against the garden windows. Ruth brought strawberries in a paper bag.
They ate them slowly, talking about nothing that needed solving.
When only one remained, Ruth reached for it, hesitated, and looked at Nora.
Nora pushed the plate toward her.
Ruth took the strawberry.
Neither woman apologized.
Later, Nora switched on the reading lamp Daniel had chosen years before. Its warm circle reached both chairs.
Ruth settled beneath a blanket, her own front-door key resting beside her cup.
Nora opened her book.
Beyond the glass, the rain softened the garden, and inside the little room, nothing had to be earned before they were allowed to rest.
