I read the first letter.
I did not read the second.
Helen helped me return to the ordinary routines I had abandoned: morning walks, gardening, reading, and Sunday lunches with friends.
One afternoon, I stood in my kitchen preparing chamomile tea.
My hand stopped above the cup.
For a moment, I was back in that hallway, watching Daniel place the amber bottle on the table.
Then I put the kettle down and opened the window.
Fresh air moved through the room.
I made my tea, carried it to the garden, and sat beneath the old magnolia tree Robert had planted years earlier.
Helen joined me with a plate of biscuits.
“You all right?” she asked.
I nodded.
“I’m learning.”
“Learning what?”
I considered the question.
“How to trust myself again.”
She sat beside me.
For years, I had believed that the greatest risk in growing older was becoming invisible. I had feared that people would stop seeing me as a woman with desires, ambitions, and the right to begin again.
