"I'm ready."
He looked at her over his glasses, skeptical and kind.
"Nobody's ready," he said. "But all right."
Before she left, he went into the back and came out with a flat white box tied with black ribbon. "Your family portraits," he said. "From that night. I printed the best ones. No charge."
"You don't have to—"
"No charge," he said again, and something in the way he said it made her think of the line on the monitor, Session note: no charge, eighteen years old, and she stopped arguing.