“Oh yes,” the manager said, smiling. “Lovely lady. Always polite, always had time for a chat. She usually came alone, late afternoons. Would sit by the window with tea and a pastry.” Ethan’s chest eased slightly. Alone meant no stranger, no romantic betrayal.
“She’d stop by after leaving the old age home across the street,” the man added casually. Ethan’s thoughts faltered. “Old age home?” He turned to glance out the window, following the man’s pointing finger to a squat brick building with barred gates and a weathered sign.