I went to bed that night exhausted, aching, and strangely at peace.
For the first time in weeks, my mind did not immediately run toward disaster. Maybe it was because I had done one small useful thing in a world where everything else felt impossible. Maybe kindness, even when you are broken, has a way of reminding you that you are still alive.
But before the sun rose, sirens woke me.
I opened my eyes to flashes of blue and red pulsing across the living room walls. My heart began to pound before I even understood why.
Then came the knock.
Heavy. Rhythmic. Official.
I pulled on a robe and hurried to the door, one hand pressed protectively against my belly.
When I opened it, a sheriff stood on my porch. Behind him, two patrol cars idled in the driveway, their lights spinning silently through the dawn.
His face was unreadable.
“Ma’am,” he said, “we need to ask you a few questions about Mrs. Higgins.”