KISAREL.
The plan was to get home, dump these bags in my room, and hurry over to Elgin's immediately. But nothing prepared me for what I walked into the moment I alighted from the taxi.
There were men everywhere.
Four, five, six of them moving in and out of the front door, carrying things. Large things. The kind of things that don't move unless someone decides they are going to move.
I stood at the gate and watched a man I didn't recognize carry my father's armchair through the front door, and I felt something happen in my chest that wasn't healthy.
My father's armchair.
The wide, dark brown one that had sat in the corner of the living room for as long as I could remember. It had a worn patch on the right armrest where he used to rest his hand when he was reading. I could still remem
