Before the illness, before mortgages and preschool notices, Simon and I used to sit in the school library after classes.

He would wait while I finished work I insisted needed one more revision.

Sometimes he read.

Sometimes he drew in the margins of a page and pretended it counted as helping.

Once, I asked why he never invited me to wherever he was staying.

He closed the book.

“It’s complicated.”

I thought he meant rules about visitors.