I believed I was just purchasing peace from leaking at seventy-four. What they would discover up there and the choice they would have to make were not something I had bargained for.

I’m Evelyn, a 74-year-old widow of nearly a decade. While cutting the hedges in the garden, my husband Richard unexpectedly died of a heart attack. He was complaining about the weeds one minute, and then he was gone. Just me and this ancient, creaking house—no children, no family left.

I’ve kept myself occupied, which is humorous in a sadistic sense. Continues…