Arms that have so long been separate reach tentatively across space and link.
As the heavy door swings closes behind them for the last time, they glance once more at the small expanses of their world. The last remnants of 50 years litter the driveway: a box of appointment diaries filled in, a pressed wedding dress, 6 polished photographs.
In a few weeks the kindling of another family will swell these walls, which already strain at the seams with stories.
But for now the house stands empty once again, a heart still beating firmly against the fading sunlight.