I started visiting a community legal clinic once a month. I did not pretend to be an attorney. I listened, helped organize paperwork, and connected people with qualified counsel. Many had stories that sounded impossible until someone took the time to examine a date or an overlooked record.
Daniel still called occasionally to remind me of deadlines and tax documents. Mrs. Delaney still insisted I ate too little when I worked late. Helena still challenged my decisions in meetings. I had learned to treasure people who told me uncomfortable truths without making cruelty their purpose.
One afternoon, I found Walter’s old letter while clearing my desk. You never have to choose between loving someone and asking them to tell you the truth. I placed it beside Mara’s photograph.
For years I had thought strength meant never being fooled. Now I knew strength could mean admitting what happened, asking better questions, and continuing to live after the answers arrived.
