It was an unfamiliar kind of hope, quieter than the kind I had carried to the porch on Christmas Eve.

PART 12

Claire arrived at my front door on a rainy Tuesday afternoon without warning.

I considered refusing to let her in, then decided that being willing to talk didn’t mean surrendering my boundaries.

She looked exhausted, and she carried a leather folder.

I offered tea.

She accepted, which was the first surprise of the visit.

The second was that she didn’t begin by asking for money.