Evelyn was in her late fifties, with silver-framed glasses and a small brass lamp on her desk.

She spoke slowly, asking whether I wanted enlarged print or an audio version of each document.

“Audio,” I said.

“Then I’d like to read the pages myself.”

She nodded, as if that were the most ordinary request in the world.

The papers surprised her.

The divorce petition had no court-stamped filing number.

It had been prepared but not submitted.