The late autumn sun set low over Elm Street, casting long gold shadows across the front lawn and the sidewalk.

A gentle breeze blew a few dry oak leaves across the driveway.

The neighborhood was quiet and peaceful.

Down the street, the streetlight near the diner flickered on as the evening sky turned purple and orange.

I held the warm mug in both hands and looked out over the front yard.

There were no missing statements left to search for in desk drawers.

There were no angry demands at the funeral home, no forged loan papers, and no secret bank transfers hiding behind passwords.