As the youngest and last child in residence — and in love with clothes and shoes — she had spilled out of her bedroom and turned her sister's room into a big walk-in closet. So two rooms are emptied, not just one.
And then there was her habit of falling asleep in the office — enough so that I would automatically tiptoe when I came downstairs early in the morning.
In other words, she was here, even when she wasn't (which was often). But now she is most assuredly not here. No music pulsing out of the bathroom as she gets ready for work. No Chanel perfume trailing in her wake.
She's fine, she's happy, she's where she should be.
The house is too big. That's all.