him.”
“That’s what you said during the trial. Look where it got you.”
I tried to look past her. The living room was no longer the living room I remembered. The family photos were gone. My mother’s portrait had disappeared. The display cabinet with the old construction company trophies was missing. The walls had been painted an elegant gray. The furniture was new, cold, expensive. Even the house smelled different, like a luxury hotel without a soul.
“Let me in,” I pleaded. “I just want to see his room.”
“His
