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I stopped mid-step, my hand tightening on the doorframe. There wasn’t an explosion of color. It was subtle and elegant. There was a single strand of warm white lights tracing the crown molding. A fall garland, wrapped with gold ribbon, adorned the hallway table. The table also held three small glass votive holders, each containing a cinnamon-scented candle.

It was exactly how Rebecca used to decorate things. A glowing warmth, that made a house feel like a home.

I made my way downstairs, each step revealing more. The living room mantle now held fall boughs, candles, and photos of Sophie, each one tucked into the boughs in small frames I didn’t recognize. I could see a wreath hanging on the front door.

I made my way to the kitchen and went to the fridge. There, right on the fridge door, held up by a fall leaf magnet, was a piece of paper.

Written on the piece of paper was the Decorating Committee: Sophie Stone (Head of Design), Ember Wilde (Head of Climbing Things) all written in Sophie’s handwriting.

I stood in my kitchen in my boxers and bare feet a little after five in the morning, irritated as hell. My house smelled a lot like my old life, and my hands shook. I gripped the counter. I’d spent two years holding down memories I didn’t want to confront only to have them push their way to the surface.

I slowly made my way down the hall and turned into the living room. Ember was on the couch, cross-legged, laptop balanced on her knees and a mug of fresh coffee on the side table. She looked up at me when I came in.

“Before you say anything…” she started.

“You studied the photos.”

She closed her mouth.

“Yes, I found the ones in the hallway closet, the albums. I wasn’t snooping; Sophie pulled them out when we were looking for boxes of decorations and showed them to me. I…”

“You studied the photos.” I repeated, not hearing a word she’d said. “You saw how Rebecca decorated and you recreated it.”

“No, not recreated. I noticed the style and colors she used. The way she kept things simple but elegant and took it from there.”

Ember set her laptop aside and stood up. She was still wearing flannel pajama pants and a long-sleeved shirt that said I PUT THE LIT IN LITERATURE. She had put her hair up in a messy bun, and she had a streak of something, glitter maybe, across her collarbone.

“Everett, I know you don’t want fall or Halloween in this house. I know I may have overstepped…”

“You’re damn right you overstepped.”

My words came out sharp, much sharper than I’d meant them to, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she lifted her chin and looked me right in the eyes.

“Sophie helped me with everything. Every choice. She looked at the photos too and remembered some of her favorite things. These are the things she wanted. So I appeased her.”

“I don’t care what Sophie wanted. Sophie is seven years old,” I barked.

“Yes, Everett, you do care.” Ember said, looking at me.

“No, I don’t, and I certainly won’t have you coming into my house, rearranging my grief to make it look prettier.”

“That isn’t what I am doing.”

“What do you call this, then?” I asked, moving toward the mantle and grabbing a candle and the fall boughs. “This isn’t decoration, Ember, it’s emotional manipulation. You found my dead wife’s designs and wallpapered my entire house with them after I specifically told you no Halloween.”

I looked at her, at her tight jaw, expecting her to crumble. Only she didn’t.

“Your daughter,” she said, each word measured and steady, “has a bag of allowance money she’s been saving all year to buy you a Halloween present because she wants to see you happy. She’s convinced that the reason you are so unhappy is because you took down all of Rebecca’s photos after she died, and I am beginning to think she might not be that far off. Never accuse me of manipulating you.”

As I looked around the room, I thought about the photos upstairs in that closet and realized that Rebecca had only used neutral colors for decorating after she got sick, which meant she didn’t keep those photos in the books but stored them securely in our private albums in the cloud.

“Where did you find the recent photos? Those are locked in my personal family file in the cloud.”

“Sophie,” I said.

“Sophie doesn’t know the password.”

“Yes, she does. Rebecca gave her the password to access those photos.”