The caption read, A new beginning after tragedy. I sat alone in a cheap rented apartment across town and read every word, every caption, every gushing line, and I did not throw the laptop across the room, though I wanted to.

Rosalind poured tea into a chipped mug and set it in front of me and watched my face.

“Does it hurt?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said, because it did, and because I have never seen the point of lying to the one person helping me.

She nodded slowly, satisfied rather than sorry.

“Good,” she said.

“Pain keeps the hand steady.” And she was right.

I let it hurt.