A Room That Was Ready

For three weeks before her brother returned, Nora prepared the spare room. She replaced the curtains, cleared a drawer and found the lamp he had liked as a teenager. When friends praised her generosity, she insisted that it was nothing.

Leo had lost his job abroad and needed somewhere to stay while he considered his next move. On his first evening, Nora showed him the room with the satisfaction of someone revealing a carefully chosen gift.

He thanked her, then asked whether he could move the desk to face the window.

The request was small. Nora's disappointment was not. She had imagined that familiar objects would reassure him, perhaps even restore a version of their family life that she missed. Instead, he was already rearranging it.

Over the following days, she offered advice about jobs, meals and suitable hours for making telephone calls. Leo became increasingly quiet. Nora interpreted this as gratitude mixed with embarrassment until he said he felt like a guest in a photograph.

They argued. Afterwards, Nora removed an old school certificate she had placed above the bed. She had meant it as encouragement; he had seen it as a reminder of someone he was expected to become again.

The next morning, Leo moved the desk. Nora asked where he wanted the lamp. It was not the emotional conversation she had rehearsed, and neither offered a speech about new beginnings.

But that evening, when she passed the open door, he was working comfortably at the window. The room finally looked occupied rather than prepared.