“Not because I want to hurt you.

Because I’ve heard enough stories about that night to last a lifetime.”

Arthur turned toward the bedside cabinet, opened it with difficulty, and lifted out a battered phone with a cracked corner.

He struggled to unlock it.

I resisted the impulse to help.

This was his memory to bring into the room.

He found a voicemail and set the device down between us.

Paige’s voice emerged thin and scratchy, but unmistakable.