The jar of marigolds sits on the counter, unopened, its glass cool and hard against the granite, a small, amber eye that does not blink while you stand in the kitchen of the house that is no longer yours, and you are trying to remember the specific weight of the silence that fell when the letter arrived, a silence that was not empty but full, heavy as wet wool, pressing against your eardrums until they popped, and you are trying to remember if you were wearing the blue apron or the green one when you first saw the stain, because the color matters, the color is the key to the lock that keeps the truth from spilling out like blood from a cut apple, and you are standing there, holding a knife that is dull and rusted at the tip, and you are cutting the wax seal of a package that was not addressed to you but to the house, to the address, to the bricks and the mortar, and you are wondering if Margaret would have known what to do with this, if she would have known how to cut the wax without breaking the seal, if she would have known that the wax was the only thing holding the poison inside the bottle, and you are cutting, and the wax flakes away like dry skin, and the smell of it is sweet and cloying, like overripe peaches, and you are thinking about the day you bought the house, how the agent had said that the foundation was solid, that the bones were good, that it was a place where a family could grow, and you had believed him, because you were young and you were in love and you thought that if you bought the right house, if you bought the house with the right light, then the light would stay, and the light would keep you warm, and the light would keep you from seeing the dark that lived in the basement, and you are cutting, and the wax gives way, and the bottle falls into your hand, and it is heavier than it looks, and you are thinking about the price, the price of the house, the price of the silence, the price of the way you looked at her when she was gone, and you are thinking about the fact that you are still here, that you are still standing in the kitchen, that you are still holding the bottle, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not leaving, because if you leave, then the story ends, and if the story ends, then the truth has to come out, and you are not ready for the truth, you are not ready to admit that you were the one who poured the water, that you were the one who turned the tap, that you were the one who watched the level rise, and you are thinking about the fact that you are a craftsman, that you build things, that you make things last, and you have made this house last, you have made the silence last, you have made the memory of Margaret last, and you are thinking about the fact that you are afraid, that you are afraid of the noise, that you are afraid of the sound of the door opening, that you are afraid of the face of the man who is coming to take the house, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not a bad person, that you are a good person, that you love her, that you loved her, that you will always love her, and you are thinking about the fact that love is not a thing that can be held, that love is a thing that leaks, that love is a thing that seeps into the cracks of the foundation and rots the wood from the inside out, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not a thief, that you are not a killer, that you are just a man who stayed, who stayed because he could not leave, who stayed because the house was the only thing that made sense, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not crazy, that you are not mad, that you are just awake, that you are the only one who is awake, and you are thinking about the fact that the man is coming, that you can hear his car in the drive, that you can hear the crunch of gravel under the tires, and you are thinking about the fact that you are going to put the bottle in the jar, that you are going to put the poison in the marigolds, that you are going to feed the flowers, that you are going to make them bloom, and you are thinking about the fact that this is the only thing you can do, that this is the only thing that will make it right, that this is the only thing that will make the silence break, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not sorry, that you are not guilty, that you are just done, that you are just finished, that you are just tired, and you are thinking about the fact that the door is opening, that you can see the light from the hallway, that you can see the shadow of the man, and you are thinking about the fact that you are going to drink the poison, that you are going to drink it now, that you are going to drink it before he gets in, that you are going to drink it so that you can stay in the house, that you are going to drink it so that you can stay with her, and you are thinking about the fact that the bottle is cold, that the poison is cold, that the house is cold, and you are thinking about the fact that you are warm, that you are alive, that you are here, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not going to drink it, that you are not going to do it, that you are going to put the bottle down, that you are going to put the jar down, that you are going to open the door, that you are going to face him, that you are going to tell him the truth, that you are going to tell him that you are the one who kept the water out, that you are the one who kept the house dry, that you are the one who kept the silence, and you are thinking about the fact that you are not going to lie, that you are not going to hide, that you are not going to run, and you are thinking about the fact that you are going to pay the price, that you are going to pay the full price, that you are going to lose the house, that you are going to lose the silence, that you are going to lose her, and you are thinking about the fact that you are going to be free, that you are going to be free of the house, that you are going to be free of the poison, that you are going to be free of the fear, and you are thinking about the fact that freedom is a heavy thing, that freedom is a cold thing, that freedom is a thing that burns, and you are thinking about the fact that you are ready, that you are finally ready, that you are going to open the door, and you are opening the door, and the light is bright, and the man is standing there, and he is not a monster, he is just a man, and he is holding a paper, and he is looking at you, and you are looking at him, and you are smiling, and you are saying, come in, and you are letting him in, and you are closing the door, and you are turning around, and you are looking at the jar, and the jar is empty, and the marigolds are gone, and the counter is clean, and the silence is broken, and you are free.