This was the same routine she’d watched Albert follow for decades. Flashlights in the drawer, candles on the table, nothing left plugged in. She couldn’t afford to forget anything. Being alone meant there was no one to double-check. She made her way through the house, one careful task at a time.
She unplugged the television, turned off lamps, tested the flashlight batteries, and made sure her phone was fully charged. Then she started going from room to room, closing every window and locking each one tight. The clouds were darkening outside, pushing more light out of the house with each minute.
A drawer in the hallway held matches and candles. She grabbed both and placed them on the basement shelf, beside the blanket pile she’d already arranged. Once she had gathered all the supplies she could remember, she turned to head back upstairs for one last sweep of the rooms.
As Maya reached the living room, she glanced toward the fireplace and spotted the photograph. A picture of her and Albert from years ago, taken near a lake resting on the mantle of the fireplace. She walked over, picked it up gently, and held it close for a moment.