Now she looked at it and saw flowers.

She came out through the double glass doors while I sat there, carrying a tray of iced tea and lemon cookies, and I watched her cross the terrace, and the difference in her stopped my heart a little.

Her skin was warm and healthy again.

Her hair was neatly styled.

She walked with a light, easy, confident stride, her knees fully healed at last, the therapy finished months ago.

She was not a woman recovering from something.