Richard’s firm had been audited into bankruptcy, and the extended family had turned on each other. Chloe had disappeared, looking for the next one.

I folded the cloth into my pocket and took out the small frayed blue mitten. Mr. Harrison had disposed of the recorder; only the fabric was left. I laid it at the base of the headstone beside a bouquet of purple gentians.

It was the whole shape of a mother’s love, in one object — that she had been willing to take down the son she made in order to save the daughter she chose.

I stood up, and the wind caught my hair. People will tell you that starting over at fifty is a tragedy. Looking out at that horizon, I felt newer and lighter and stronger than I ever had when I was young.

I wasn’t an unpaid nurse anymore. I wasn’t a convenient shadow.

I smiled at the stone, turned, and started the long walk down toward town. The shop was waiting. The leaves needed roasting. And for the first time in twenty years, the road in front of me belonged to me.

THE END.