I recently moved my firm into a sun-drenched office in the financial district; a florist’s arrangement arrived from Rex Winterbourne, of all people, the card reading to the sharpest mind in the city. Dinah came by with a velvet box — an antique jade bracelet Adelina had always meant to pass to her daughter-in-law, offered now with nothing asked in return.

Eight years ago I’d have wept to receive it, believing I’d finally earned my place.

I closed the lid and slid it gently back.

“It’s beautiful.

Thank her for me.

But it belongs in your family, not mine.” Dinah smiled, sad and knowing.