By midnight, she’d convinced herself to leave it alone. Whoever this was, they meant no harm. But another thought refused to quiet: Why now? Why begin again after all this time? The question turned restless in her, growing louder than sleep, louder than reason.
In the days that followed, Ellen began to make lists in her notebook—names of anyone who might visit. Old neighbors, teachers, Sam’s friends’ parents. None fit. Eventually, one name hovered at the edge of her mind: her ex-husband, David. He had mourned differently, privately. Maybe this was his way.