No one knows that I took the position of family patriarch reluctantly. And I'll never tell anyone. I am far too proud. I have been through far too much. No one knows that I dread living here. I have dreams where she comes back to life and offers me a loving embrace and relieves me of fatherly, grandfatherly duties. She was the only one who had seen me weak, who had seen my emotions falter. She was the only one who had seen me cry. Now I dread living here. I am allergic to her clothing, to the mothballs and dust mites that have collected in her sweaters and socks and shoes. I haven't touched a thing since the day she passed. I can't forget. I treat what's left of her like family heirlooms, priceless and sentimental. I dread going into her room. I am not powerful. I am only powerful when she is my companion.
Key words: cabinet, door, unoccupied space