Evelyn sat in her parked car at a snowy rest stop in New Hampshire with a paper cup of tea warming her hands and felt the last illusion break cleanly in two.
Not one person asked where she was.
Not one asked if she was safe.
Not one said Merry Christmas.
They did not miss her.
They missed what she paid for.
She opened the screenshot she had taken of the chat from Megan’s tablet, sent it to the family group message, and typed a single line beneath it.
Operation Ditch Grandma was a complete success.
Good luck finding rooms.
Then she turned her phone off.
In Maine, the air was sharp enough to make her lungs ache in the best way.
The inn was quiet, with creaking stairs, knitted blankets, and windows that looked out over a gray winter sea.
Evelyn walked the coast bundled in wool and silence.
