When the meeting ended, I walked Miriam to her car.

“You must be exhausted,” I said.

“I am,” she admitted.

“But for the first time, being tired feels like a consequence of doing something instead of being afraid.”

I squeezed her hand.

Behind us, Thomas carried the cardboard box back into the office, where Priya arranged to preserve and document its contents.

The pieces of my childhood were becoming evidence.

That frightened me.