What Remains of Evelyn

The knock came just after sunset, sharp and official. Through the small window by the door, a man in a gray suit stood waiting, his car idling at the curb. She opened the door only halfway. "Mrs. Smith," he said, voice flat. "Agent Crane. We need to review some details about the accident again." Her hand tightened on the door. "We have already talked, Agent. Four times. There is nothing else to say." He hesitated, watching her face, then gave a small nod and left. The sound of the car pulling away was clean and final. She locked the door, turned off the porch light, and leaned against the frame. He will not find anything. I erased everything. I am safe. We are safe. When she turned, you were standing by the kitchen arch, quiet, curious. She smiled, calm and steady. "It was just that FBI man again," she said. "He keeps thinking he can find something new."