The silence that followed was heavy, broken only by the sound of the wind whistling through the leaded glass windows.

Pastor Whitcomb stood near the altar rail, his hands clasped in front of his black cassock.

“Evelyn,” the pastor said, his voice filled with a quiet sorrow. “I am so sorry.”

“Did you know about this, Pastor?” I asked, turning to face him. “Did you know my grandmother’s mind was being questioned?”

The pastor looked down at the floor, his silence answering my question before he could speak.

Julian did not wait for the pastor’s reply.

He was already looking down at the yellow folder Clara had brought, his brow furrowed in deep concentration.

He pulled out a single sheet of yellowed paper with a blue notary seal at the bottom.

“Evelyn,” Julian said, his voice barely a whisper.

“What is it?” I asked, stepping away from the altar and toward him.

“Look at the date on this medical clearance,” Julian said, pointing to the bottom of the page.

I looked down at the document, my eyes focusing on the black ink of my grandmother’s signature.