After the session, the woman with the folder approached me.

She wasn’t formerly incarcerated.

Her brother was, and she worried that helping him would make her responsible for every choice he made.

“An open door isn’t the same as an open bank account,” I told her.

“You can offer something specific and keep your limits clear.”

She thanked me and left looking lighter.

On the drive home, Opal gazed out at the passing streetlights.

“You know,” she said, “people have started calling you brave.”