A small adjustment brought the garden back
The hinged frame had supported the mirror at an angle. The postcard acted as a spacer, holding it at a repeatable tilt. On the narrow shelf by the window, the mirror could catch a view of the upper branches outside and reflect it toward a second mirror once mounted above the fireplace. From the chair, the pair had shown a small piece of the garden.
The second mirror was still in the house, hanging in the hallway. Anja brought it into the sitting room while Ivo held the first in place. At first they saw only sky. Then he adjusted the hinge and slid the postcard around the peg. A branch entered the reflection, followed by three small pears and a strip of blue shutter.
Anja sat in her mother's chair. She had expected a hidden photograph or a sentimental message, something meant to be read. Instead she found a practical kindness built out of angles and scraps. Her father had made a window for someone who could not reach the real one. The blank postcard had been useful precisely because it was the right thickness.
Ivo repaired the loose hinge and replaced the missing mounting screws. He left the card untouched, as requested, and drew a simple diagram for the next person who might take the arrangement apart. When he returned the finished frame, Anja was no longer photographing the tree from the garden. She was watching its leaves move from the chair.