The sunroom floorboards had been scrubbed clean.

The yellow legal pads, the corporate financial ledgers and the property transfer threats were all gone.

A light breeze stirred the sheer white curtains and threw soft shadows across the sunroom floor.

On the little side table sat Clara’s official birth certificate next to David’s final military service commendation letter.

Both bore clean, crisp federal seals.

“You’re safe here, Clara,” I whispered, watching her tiny eyelids flicker in the morning sun.

At half past ten I heard a truck pull into the gravel driveway outside.