Taking her back into my life, paying her debts, sparing her son the consequences of his theft, those were entirely separate questions, questions about my future rather than my past, and to all of them the answer was no.

I could release my anger at Theresa and still refuse to fund her; the two were not in conflict.

Before she stood to leave, she looked at the photograph one last time.

“I will regret that empty plate,” she said quietly, “for the rest of my life.” And I looked at her, and I answered honestly.

“So will I,” I said.

“But for very different reasons.”