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Violet felt like she was invading this family’s privacy, but the younger woman had just walked right by her and hadn’t said anything. In no way did Violet look like she belonged in this room, but as the younger woman walked by her again to leave the room, she said nothing and didn’t so much as look at Violet.

“My love,” the older woman said to the woman in the bed. “I’ll take care of them. Don’t you worry about that. Our girls and grandbabies will be fine. And I will see you again. I know we said we’d remember that we were gifted this life together. We knew that this would happen, that we’d end up here, with you in this bed and me sitting in this chair, wishing for more, always more time with you. And I thought I’d be ready for it when the time came, but I’m not, my love. I’m not ready to go to our home and have you not be there.” She kissed the woman’s hand again. “But you asked me to be there for them as long as I can, so I will do that for you; for us. Then, I’ll find you, and we’ll have that eternity together. You are my whole heart. I will see you soon, Violet.”

The woman kissed the hand again and then stood and kissed the woman on the lips. She wiped at her tears, turned, and left the room.

Violet stood there with her mouth agape. The woman in the bed, who she now knew had been dead, had her eyes closed. She had short gray hair, how a lot of old women did. Her hands were restingon her stomach, and she looked very peaceful. She also looked like something else. No, not somethingelse. Someoneelse.

Violet turned and followed the other old woman out of the room, turning again once in the hallway to see her hugging two women about Violet’s age. One was the young woman who had just been in the room, and the other one must have been her sister or possibly even her twin because they looked nearly identical.

Violet hated eavesdropping, but she couldn’t help it. She needed to know. She walked a little closer and listened.

“Mom, what can we do?” the one with the shorter hair, who hadn’t been in the room seconds ago, said.

“We go home. The paperwork is already done. We know what your mom wanted for her funeral, and we give that to her,” the older woman replied.

“Mrs. Bailey-Armstrong?” a nurse spoke and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Bailey-Armstrong?” Violet asked no one.

“Thank you,” the older woman replied, not hearing Violet, who was only feet behind her.

“If there’s anything you need, please let us know,” the nurse told her and walked away.

“Mom, the kids are at the house,” one of the possible twins, the one who had been in the room, said.

“I know, honey. You two can go there. I’m going to go for a walk, if that’s okay.”

“A walk? Mom, you shouldn’t be alone right now,” the other one said.

“Just a short one. I need to have a minute. Then, I’ll be home.”

“I’ll wait. Daryn can go check on the kids,” the first one replied.

“Dora, it’s okay. Go with your sister. I’ll be all right,” the older woman said before she hugged them both.

Violet just stood there, feeling invisible and wondering what was happening because she was standing in the middle of a hospital corridor, clearly spying on these poor women, and no one was saying anything. She then watched as the three of them walked farther down the hall, but she remained where she was, trying to make sense of it all.

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bailey-Armstrong?” someone said to the older woman, but they weren’t in scrubs or wearing a lab coat, so Violet wasn’t sure if they were a nurse or doctor.

“Rachel is fine,” she replied.

“I have one more thing I need you to sign for me. I’m so sorry,” the woman said.

“Can I sign for her? I’m her daughter,” the one Violet now knew as Dora said.

“Oldest twin. She’s the protective one,” Rachel said with a smile aimed at her daughter.

Then, somehow, Violet’s eyes were opening again, and she was standing right back in her garage, staring at the device, no longer wearing her gloves but holding them in her hand.

“Holy fuck!” She covered her mouth with her hand that wasn’t holding the gloves. “That wasme. I’m dead.” She shook her head. “No, Iwasdead. Or, Iwillbe. What the fuck?”

Violet slammed the lid on the case, closed the clasp, and hurried into the house, where she stood at the counter, leaning over it, as her puppy, who was still without a name, sniffed at her feet.

“Rachel,” she said softly. “Rachel Bailey-Armstrong.” She smiled. “She had a ring on her finger, and so did I.” She looked down at her bare ring finger. “She was my wife.”

One Week Later

Not only had Violet noticed the rings, but she’d noticed the scar. It was on her right hand, which had been the one on her stomach that the Rachel woman hadn’t been holding. It had been totally visible to Violet, matching the burn she’d given herself at age twenty-four when she’d been pulling Bagel Bites out of the toaster oven and the top of her hand had hit the rack. The spider-web-like scar hadn’t ever gone fully away, even though it had gotten harder to see with time, but if this vision was to be believed, it seemed that it never would because that was Violet lying in the hospital bed, dead from something in her old age.