Still, her neighbors watched her oddly. Not unkindly, but with a kind of tense curiosity—as if she were reopening a book they’d long since shut. Once, she waved at an elderly couple across the street. They waved back, then whispered behind closed doors. She chose not to ask.
For a while, she found comfort in routine. Mornings began with coffee and a walk in the garden. Afternoons at the local library’s reading group. Once a week, she volunteered at the elementary school, reading to children in the corner of their sunlit library. It was finally peaceful again.