After Patricia moved out, I rearranged the spices.
I know this is a small thing. It is a small thing about whose kitchen it is, which was not actually in question and was also, for a period, in question in the practical sense of who was operating it. The spices go back to where I keep them. The dish towels are folded in the way I fold them, which is loosely and without geometric precision, which is my preference and not worse than any other preference, just different.
The office recovered faster. Within a week of the departure it was fully mine again in the way it had been mine before: the door could be open or closed depending on what I needed and not depending on what signal I was trying to send to the person in the next room. I had a call on a Thursday where I did not think about whether the door was adequately shut until after the call had ended and I realized I had not thought about it, and this is what having your workspace back actually feels like.
The guest room was the last one. I remade it and aired it out and put it back. But for a few weeks after Patricia left, I kept my hand on the doorframe when I walked past it rather than walking past it normally. Not with dread. More like: remembering. That rooms can change their nature and then change back.
What I Would Have Done Differently