Mom wrapped the picture in a sweater and put it in her tote bag.

She did not look to me for permission.

We left with two suitcases, three folders, and the sewing machine itself.

The machine had been my grandmother’s.

Ruth insisted on carrying its case until I gently reminded her that it weighed more than she did.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

It wasn’t a grand victory.

But my mother’s shoulders were no longer curled toward her ears.