She sighed. “Logan isn’t like Vik,” she said aloud. “And anyway, this is my house.”
Grabbing a tarpaulin from the garage, Hana laid it as flat as she could over the kitchen table and went back for the ladders. No small Izzie stuck wonky alphabet letters onto the tarp, but Hana measured, cut, pasted and stuck the first sheets of wallpaper in her new home. She surprised herself with how much she enjoyed it, working her way across the easiest wall first. “Paper towards the window,” she whispered, focussing on Vik’s other criticism. “Then the joins don’t cause shadows.” Hana sighed and stood back to admire her work, wondering why her late husband’s cruellest words still lingered in her heart, burying the kind moments under resentment and sadness.
She used up three of the five rolls and made
