She was not wrong to believe.
She was young enough that believing was still the available choice.
And she had spent nine years getting older.
Getting more tired.
Getting clearer.
The clarity had cost her.
The clarity had also produced, eventually, this.
The hearing.
Mrs. Wilkes.
The specific patience of a woman who had spent fourteen years learning to stay very still on the outside while her mind moved very fast on the inside.
I finished the coffee.
I called Diane.
She answered.
She said: how are you?
I said: okay.
She said: Angela.
She said: you know you can say it was hard.
I said: it was hard.
She said: yes.
She said: it was also a very good day in terms of outcomes.
I said: yes.
I said: Diane.
She said: yes.
I said: thank you.
She said: I want you to know something.
She said: there was a period when I was not certain.
