Every tile had been washed.

The patio, the patio where I had found her on her knees, had been bleached clean and then, in the days that followed, would be torn out entirely.

The master suite, the room they had taken from her, had been restored to something better than it had ever been.

My mother stood in the grand foyer of the house I had bought her, her worn hands clasped against her chest, and the tears came down her cheeks, softly, without any of the fear that had been in them the day before.

“Evelyn,” she whispered, turning slowly to take it all in.