You look at the number, and you look at the second number, and you say, calmly, “Let me check that for you,” and you go into the back and your hands shake there.

So she stood on her own balcony and went into the back of her own head.

Facts.

Her purse was on the hall table, eight feet inside.

Phone, wallet, ID, insurance card, discharge summary, keys.

Unreachable.

The front door was past both of them.

The balcony was second floor, twenty-two feet above a concrete areaway with a fence around it.