While she’s in the city, her husband goes to their house to pick up some clothes. Like, all of them, leaving only a pair of her dad’s old pajama pants that he sometimes used to wear. Home for therapy, she screams I hate you in the empty-plus-pajama-pants closet, over and over. It doesn’t matter that it was probably not meant to be a rejection, that it was probably meant to say These were your dad’s, you should have them. It was probably a no-win for him. She probably wouldn’t have thought about the pajamas at all if he’d just taken them. She has other things, better things, to remember her dad by. Now, she’s forced to remember that her husband is gone and her dad is gone too.