A dead squirrel rattled in a cardboard box as Lucy pushed open the creaky door of the thrift shop. The musty scent of old fabric and worn leather enveloped her, mingling with the faint aroma of polished wood. Taxidermied, Colin would have corrected her with that smug smile of his. The box cradled remnants of their life together: the stiff squirrel with its unnervingly lifelike pose, purple plates, and bowls they'd set aside for romantic dinners, and a well-worn leather backpack alongside a frayed red blanket from their travels…