Before she left, Paige slipped the picture of me with paint on my cheek into a small frame and placed it beside the one of Walter.

“Look at you,” she said.

“You were brave even when you didn’t know it.”

I studied the younger woman’s face.

I wanted to tell her that she would lose things she thought she could not live without.

I wanted to tell her she would also find things she had never imagined possessing: her own home, her own work, mornings with no one criticizing her, and a daughter who knew how to speak the truth.

Instead I touched the glass and smiled.