She sat at the kitchen table with a legal pad, the same kind I had used in the hospital.

At the top she wrote three words: What matters now.

“Can I tell you something?” she asked.

“Always.”

“Some mornings I picture Garrett in court and I want him to hear every terrible thing he said to me.

Other mornings I want never to hear his voice again.

I keep thinking I should know what I want.”

“You can want more than one thing.”