The motel staff said she was polite—quiet, composed, the kind of guest who barely left a trace behind. She checked in early that morning, alone, with a single small overnight bag that looked far too light for someone planning to stay long. Her handwriting in the register was careful and neat, the kind that suggested years of discipline and grace. The clerk on duty, a young man in his twenties, remembered later how she smiled when offered help, that small, almost apologetic smile people give when they’re used to taking care of themselves.
