In The Home of a Widower
He set his keys by the urn on the table and took off his coat, hanging it over the back of the chair. They’d insisted on cleaning after everyone had left a few days before, and the house retained an unfamiliar, uninhabited air about it. He thought of pulling out the chair and sitting, but it felt like someone else’s house now, and he doubted that feeling of belonging would return. Somebody said how these things take time and how eventually things would get back to normal, but now he stood in quiet desperation, looking for a place for himself.