And there it was.
That sense. Not proof. Not logic. Just the cold animal certainty that the moment had arrived.
You walked slowly into the bedroom and looked at the bed.
In daylight it was almost ordinary. Neutral duvet. Dark wood frame. Decorative pillows you had bought at Target during one of those hopeful phases when you were trying to freshen the room instead of admit the room had become hostile. But now that Miguel was gone, the mattress seemed to take on shape. Presence. A thing that had been waiting for you to stop pretending.
Your hands shook while you pulled off the bedding.
You carried the comforter to the hallway. Removed the pillows. Stripped the sheets. The smell was already there under the exposed mattress cover, fainter than at night but unmistakable. Worse near the corner. Worse along the seam.
You dragged the mattress into the middle of
