She had been married forty years to a man who buried his sins under this house, and she had learned to carry a great deal in silence, to keep a serene surface over depths she never showed.

But I had never seen her put a burden down before, and there was something in the way she did it now — deliberately, almost with relief — that frightened me more than any medical chart had.

People set down their heaviest secrets when they have decided they will not be carrying them much longer.

“There is something you need to know about Juliet,” she said quietly.

Beside her, Juliet went white.