The front garden had changed.

Someone had planted pale yellow flowers along the path, and the windows reflected a sky bright enough to make me squint.

I stood across the street for a moment, remembering the woman who had knelt beside that bed with shaking hands.

She had believed the worst thing she might discover was that her husband loved someone else.

Instead she had uncovered forged authority, hidden debts, a concealed connection to the crash, and years of decisions made on her behalf.

I wanted to reach backward through time and tell her what she was allowed to do: ask questions, call a lawyer, seek medical care, leave the room, say no, and make choices that were hers even if they disappointed someone she loved.