A few minutes later, Laura came back out and moved a potted plant away from the steps.

An ordinary household chore.

An ordinary Tuesday.

The world had continued for her while mine had stopped seven years earlier.

I wrote down the address, saved the photographs, and drove away.

I stopped in a grocery-store parking lot halfway home because I could no longer see the road clearly.

For a long while I sat with the engine running and one hand over my mouth.

When I finally returned home, I stood before Eleanor’s photograph on the mantel.