Moving day was a Thursday.
Mia had packed most of her things the night before. It hadn't taken long. She'd never been someone who accumulated much. A few boxes of clothes, some books, her toiletries, a small framed photo of her that sat on her bedside table. That was about it.
It was humbling, really. How little space a person actually took up when it came down to it.
She carried the first box downstairs herself, but Margaret appeared at the bottom of the staircase almost immediately, her expression set with quiet determination.
"I'll help," she said, in a tone that didn't leave room for argument.
Mia didn't argue.
They worked mostly in silence, moving between her room and the car that had been sent to transport her things. Clara helped too, appearing at the doorway with her sleeves rolled up and that sad look still on her face that she was clearly trying to hide.
"I'm fine," Mia said, without looking up from the box she was taping shut.
"I know," Clara said.
