Neither of us ever had.

The distance was too established, the old grievances too well defended, the risk of rejection too high; it was easier, always, to leave it for another day.

And then our sister’s abandoned daughter appeared between us, and every one of those defenses simply evaporated, because they were all, we suddenly saw, so small.

What did the old fight over buildings matter, held up against a hospital in Denver where our sister died alone?

What was there left to defend?