She picked up her keys, then put them down again.

“I don’t want him to have to fix us.”

“He doesn’t.”

“Good.”

For the first time, my sister was treating my husband as a person in my life rather than the reason she might regain access to me.

That felt more respectful than any admiration she could have offered for his career.

We agreed to have lunch before the next conversation.

Food would not make the documents easier, but exhaustion and hunger could make us argue over something that did not need an argument.