Dead silence hung so thick in the room you could cut it with a knife.
He dragged his feet step by step toward his usual dressing table.
It was still stacked full of her lipsticks and skincare products.
Next he reached for the closet door and pulled it open. Only a few of his own daily coats hung inside, sparse and lonely against the wooden backing.
The closet that used to be bursting at the seams with her clothes was completely, chillingly empty now.
Even the hangers were gone; all that remained were just a few unused hangers that had never been used.
Out in the living room, on the coffee table, there had once stood a glass tumbler that Charlotte loved more than any other.
She'd told him it was a birthday gift mailed to her by a friend.
Now that glass was gone too, vanished without
