It was where he sat. At first nobody dared sit there, whether out of respect for him or for Dorothy. You'd think three years was enough time, but when you're 92... a mere fraction.
The chair where he sat was where he sat.
Dorothy knew he was gone, but the 'we's were set in concrete. "We don't eat much these days", "We can't get out these days." Lucidity was regular, the glue of togetherness was enduring.
Janet's new man knew none of this. When bid to sit, he sat.
"Don't! You're sitting on...." Reality hit Dorothy. "Sam" she mouthed silently.