Who was she?

The answer arrived before I could prepare. Footsteps crossed the porch. A key slid into the lock from outside.

I stood too quickly, the album slipping from my lap onto the couch. The door opened, and the woman from the photographs stepped inside, a small paper grocery bag against her hip.

“Helen?” she called softly. “They had the crackers you like. The doctor said your appetite might—”

She stopped the moment she saw me. For several long seconds we simply stared at one another across the room.

She was smaller than she’d appeared in the pictures — or maybe illness made her seem more fragile in person. Her dark hair was tied back at the nape of her neck.