The final box felt too small for the room, overwhelmed by bare walls and empty shelves. She stood and looked at it, not wanting to pick it up but knowing she could never leave it. Inside were a long-broken clock, a chipped mug decorated with black Labradors and that green jumper he refused to part with despite years of repairs. Reaching down, ignoring the protest from her lower back, she brought it up to her face and inhaled deeply.
Woodsmoke and tobacco sweetness. She walked towards the front door and turned back for the last time.
“Bye dad”.
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