James sat with her, feeling the chill of the night seep through his uniform, but he barely noticed it. His mind was focused on Margaret, on keeping her calm. Gradually, her breathing steadied, and the tears subsided.
He asked gentle questions, hoping to piece together her story. “Do you remember your address?” he asked. Margaret squinted, trying to pull an answer from her muddled thoughts.
“No… but I remember a garden. Roses and… and lavender. My husband used to grow them for me.”
James nodded.
It was a start. “That sounds beautiful. Let’s find those roses, okay?”
He radioed dispatch to search for any local addresses with gardens fitting her description.
As they worked on that, James stayed with Margaret, talking about everything and nothing—her favorite flowers, the songs she used to sing to her children, the warmth of summer days. The streets remained quiet, the world asleep around them. James noticed a small smile line Margaret’s lips as she recounted the way her husband would dance with her in their tiny kitchen.
The night didn’t seem so stark anymore. Finally, a message crackled through his radio—a potential lead. An address about twelve blocks away had rose and lavender bushes in the front yard.
What happened next changed everything…
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