A car slowed along the street.
For one brief second, her body stiffened.
She looked up.
It was the retired teacher.
The older woman lowered her window.
“Beautiful afternoon!”
The homeowner smiled.
“It is.”
The teacher pointed toward the flowers.
“Need help?”
The younger woman laughed.
“I might.”
The retired teacher parked.
Several minutes later, her husband arrived carrying gardening gloves and a small toolbox.
Then the widower walked over from his property with a bag of mulch.
Before long, four people were working in the flowerbed.
They talked about ordinary things.
Weather.
Family.
Gardening.
Recipes.
A neighborhood picnic planned for the following month.
Nobody mentioned the viral video.
Nobody discussed the former president.
Nobody asked the homeowner to explain her wealth or her mother's position.
They simply helped her plant flowers.
At one point, the retired teacher looked toward the front door.
Then smiled.
“This house feels different now.”
The homeowner glanced toward her.
“How?”
The older woman considered the question.
“Less lonely.”
For a moment, the younger woman couldn't speak.
Then she smiled softly.
“Yes.”
She looked toward the people working beside her.
“It does.”
The following spring, the homeowner finally hosted the family gathering she'd imagined before purchasing the house.
She invited relatives.
Friends.
Neighbors.
And several people who had supported her through the difficult months.
The long dining table was covered with beautiful dishes.
Fresh flowers decorated the kitchen.
Music played softly from the living room.
And the smell of roasted chicken, vegetables, and homemade bread filled the house.
Her mother arrived in a beautiful dark-blue dress.
For once, she wasn't wearing a command uniform.
The homeowner met her at the front door.
She looked extraordinary again.
Her platinum-blonde hair fell in glossy waves over her shoulders.
She wore a fitted taupe blazer, matching flowing trousers, and elegant gold jewelry.
The outfit reminded her of the clothing she'd worn on the day of the assault.
But there was one difference.
She had decided not to associate those beautiful clothes with the worst afternoon of her life.
She loved them.
So she wore them again.
Her mother stopped on the porch.
For a moment, she studied her daughter.
Then smiled.
“Look at you.”
The younger woman laughed.
“What?”
“The suit.”
The daughter glanced down.
“Oh.”
Her mother raised an eyebrow.
“Doesn't that bring back memories?”
The daughter considered the question.
Then smiled faintly.
“It does.”
The chief's expression softened.
“Are you okay wearing it?”
The young woman stepped closer.