instead of coming to me.
But I also remembered the woman standing outside that building, crying over a folder of legal documents.
“Come over,” I said.
She arrived forty minutes later.
When I opened the door, she looked exhausted. Her eyes were swollen, her hair was pulled into a loose ponytail, and she carried a small handbag that seemed too heavy for her shoulder.
She stepped inside without meeting my eyes.
We sat in the living room.
For several minutes, neither of us spoke.
Finally, Vanessa began crying.
“I know
