Walter had called for help before sunrise after becoming dizzy in his kitchen. Paramedics had taken him to the county hospital, and he had refused to go until Elena promised to bring me the folder. She said he kept repeating Monday, maple, photographs. I felt foolishly relieved that my mower had not thrown a stone through anyone's window. Then I saw the renewal deadline circled in red. It was Sunday, and a wind advisory was due by evening.

I used the spare key and found one kitchen chair overturned. Walter's phone lay beneath it beside the insurer's checklist. He had already tightened the porch rail with mismatched screws. A ladder stood under the maple, which frightened me more than the loose branch. I called his niece, Dana, then my cousin Luis. Dana was driving through the night. Luis could inspect the tree but warned that emergency removal required Walter's permission unless the limb threatened immediate damage.

At the hospital, Walter looked smaller beneath a white blanket and furious to see me. The doctor had found an irregular heartbeat and wanted to keep him overnight. Walter cared only about the inspection. When I asked him to authorize Luis, he said no one was cutting down the maple. His wife had planted it when they bought the house. I explained that an arborist could prune one limb, not erase fifty years. He turned his face toward the window.

Then Elena placed the orange stake on his bedside table. Wind had knocked it loose before she left the house. Walter gripped it with both hands. He admitted the insurer's photograph showed a crack where the trunk divided, not merely a branch over the roof. He had hidden the second page because he feared an arborist would condemn the whole tree. I understood then that the policy deadline was only one clock. Walter believed agreeing to an inspection might make him lose the last living thing his wife had chosen.