“I don’t want to pretend the divorce didn’t happen,” I said. “I don’t want to walk back in here and act like I didn’t sign. You were right in the hallway — a key after the house has burned.

I can’t unburn it.” I made myself hold her eyes. “But I’d like to find out what we are when neither of us is protecting the other from a lie. I’ve never actually met that marriage.

I’d like to.”

“That’s not a small thing to ask,” she said.

“I’m not asking for it today,” I said. “You told me — choice is only real when it lasts past the emergency. So let it last. Let me drive you to the follow-ups.

Let me be the person who remembers your medication schedule and argues with your fern. And in a month, or three, when you’re well and I’m still here and neither of us is frightened, ask me again whether I meant it.