At seventy-four, I thought fixing my leaky roof would bring me peace. I didn’t expect it to uncover secrets from my late husband’s past—or force me to decide who I could really trust. My name is Evelyn. I’ve been a widow for nearly a decade. My husband Richard passed suddenly from a heart attack, right there in our garden while trimming the hedges. One moment, he was fussing over weeds, and the next, he was gone. We never had children, and with no family left, it’s been just me and this old creaking house. I’ve kept myself busy—tending my roses,…