“Who is she?”
He pointed directly at me.
“You.”
My hands tightened slightly around the steering wheel.
My daughter Emma liked to joke that I could turn the smallest suspicious detail into a full investigation before anyone finished explaining.
Maybe she was right.
“So tell Grandma what you saw.”
Noah described a red light glowing inside the garage.
He had heard his parents whispering.
He had also seen Emma carrying a package home from a flea market.
She took it straight into the garage and told him not to touch it.
“Did you see what was inside?”
He shook his head.
“They said it wasn’t ready.”
I tried to laugh.
Maybe it was a birthday surprise.
Some craft project.
Nothing serious.
Then I remembered something.
The week before, Emma had casually asked whether I still kept belongings from when I was young.
“What are you thinking about, Grandma?”
“Nothing, sweetheart.”
But by the time I reached the road leading toward my house, I had already driven past it.
I turned around.
And headed directly to Emma’s home.
When I pulled into the driveway, I saw the garage window glowing red.
Whatever they were hiding was inside.
I got Noah out of the car.
Before I could knock, Emma opened the back door.
Noah immediately announced,
“Grandma came to see the garage.”
Emma looked at me.
“Mom, I was actually going to—”
Too late.
I was already walking past her.
The red glow came from small decorative lights strung across one wall.
Underneath them were photographs.
Some framed.
Others clipped along pieces of twine.
At first, I didn’t understand what I was seeing.
Then I recognized the young woman in the pictures.
Me.
Decades younger.
Sunburned.
Laughing.
Looking as though life had never hurt me yet.
Relief came first.
There was no emergency.
No crime.
No reason Noah should have mentioned the police.
It was just some elaborate birthday display.
Then I noticed the camera sitting on the workbench.
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