And then he saw it. A white crossover SUV had pulled so far in that it was now sitting squarely on the flowerbed beside the house. Margaret’s flower bed. The same one he’d helped her dig out by hand, where the pink forget-me-nots had only recently begun to bloom.
The tire tracks cut deep, slicing the soil like a blade. The stems were flattened. The petals had been crushed beneath rubber and weight. Eli felt something twist in his chest. Anger, yes—but more than that, a deep violation.