Mara returned to the house on a Thursday, carrying a key she had almost thrown away. The rooms were smaller than she remembered, but the afternoon light still reached the far wall of the study. Someone had moved the blue chair beside the window. On its seat lay an envelope with her name written in a hand she knew at once. She stood in the doorway, listening to a branch brush the glass. Before opening the letter, she placed her bag on the floor and pulled the curtains back. Dust rose through the light. Across the street, a man was watering a tree.