The inventory read table, lamp, window. Eva thought the final item was a mistake. Windows belonged to the salt house, not to her mother's estate, and the building had already been stripped before the family arrived.
The estate clerk found a photograph attached to an earlier version of the list. A wooden frame stood on the table, holding a painting of the flats. Her mother called it the window because the room's actual opening faced a blank wall. The inventory had repeated a household name without describing the object.
The painting turned up in a charity shop's unsorted donations. It was amateur work, with an impossible blue channel across the dry ground. Eva remembered her mother saying the sea used to reach farther inland, but could not tell whether the picture showed memory or invention.
She hung it opposite her own kitchen window. On the back, she wrote the painter's name if known, then crossed out the last two words and left a blank line. The frame had been recovered. The view inside it was allowed to remain a question, without becoming less valuable for lacking a verifiable horizon.