I patted her hand and gave her the same tight, polite smile I had been giving everyone for two straight weeks.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.

Truly.

I had said that sentence so many times over two weeks that it had worn smooth in my mouth, a small coin of a phrase I handed to everyone who asked, because the truth — that I was not fine, that I was hollowed out and frightened and lonelier than I had ever been in my life — was not a thing I had the strength to say aloud to anyone, least of all to the sister-in-law whose hand kept finding my arm.

So I gave her the coin, I’m fine, truly, and she took it with a tender smile, and neither of us meant a word of the exchange, though at the time I thought only I was pretending.”