What He Confirmed Without Ever Knowing
He came through the door and dropped his car keys into the wooden bowl on the shoe cabinet. The keys hit the bottom with a dull thud. The bowl was something his daughter had made in art class — lopsided, coated with a layer of glossy varnish, but the varnish had worn through, showing the gray-white wood underneath. He didn’t turn on the main light in the living room. The light strip under the kitchen cabinets came on by itself, triggered by motion. His daughter had installed it on her last visit. She’d stood on a chair while he held the backrest, and she’d said, This way you won’t have to fumble around in the dark when you want a glass of water at night. The chair was the one from IKEA. Its seat had come a little loose, and he’d tightened the screws himself once, afterward.
