front door open.
I stood near the kitchen window.
Marguerite stepped outside wearing her usual morning clothes.
Silk robe.
Ceramic coffee mug.
The composed expression of someone beginning her day exactly as planned.
She took three steps.
Then stopped.
She looked down at the first stone.
Then the second.
Then the third.
I watched understanding move across her face.
She knew exactly what she was looking at.
And exactly who had put it there.
She stood in the cold holding her coffee.
She didn’t look toward my house.
That told