Beneath the rust from faucets long since shut of water, the sink betrays its part in the play that night. Crimson streaks left pink where he tried to wash it clean. Pools evaporated and left to dry red-brown on the floor.

In the corner here, his daughter's blood-specked stuffed pink pony. The one she always slept with every night.

His footprints on my tiles lead in from the master bedroom. They match the stains still brilliant on that rug.