Leah restores damaged photographs for a living. She notices what other people miss: a shifted edge, a faint stain, a surface beginning to separate.
Her own life is just as carefully ordered. Every mug is angled. Every chair is aligned. Every Wednesday, her best friend calls at eleven. Her husband is attentive, dependable, and always close.
Then a child's blue mitten appears on a closet shelf.
Four days later, it is gone.
Leah begins testing her home the way she examines a damaged photograph: moving objects, changing routines, watching for what is quietly corrected. Each small disturbance is restored within a day. Gently. Invisibly. And always followed by a reassuring phone call.
Nathan and Megan have spent seven years protecting Leah from something they believe she cannot survive remembering. But her body remembers fragments: warm dock boards, a child laughing near the water, and a missing minute that no one will explain.
As Leah closes in on the truth, the life built around her begins to fracture.
Some damage can be repaired. Some can only be stabilized. And some truths, once brought into the light, destroy everything that was built to contain them.