He sat on the edge of the sofa, his hands resting on his knees.

For the first time I noticed how thin his wrists had become.

The sight gave me a flash of sadness, followed by anger that sadness could still so easily make me excuse what he had done.

“Nora, I was trying to make things easier,” he said.

“For which one of us?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

I told him about the power of attorney.

He stared at me as if he had hoped the subject would never be spoken aloud.