There were five plates stacked neatly beside the sink.

I noticed them because of what Rebecca had said in court.

The fifth was not a symbol.

It was ordinary, worn blue ceramic, chipped at one corner from years of use.

“People are calling me,” Rebecca said before I sat down.

“They want photographs.

One woman offered to buy groceries if I agreed to tell the story at her church.”

“You don’t have to do that.”