"You don't have to go," he said.
Margaret smiled. The smile was tired and clear. "I know. That is why I can consider it."
Allison looked at him. "We told her we would support whatever she chooses. Staying. Going. Either one. No signatures without a conversation this time. No conversations without her."
Margaret tapped the folder. "I have been happy here. I have also been a guest in a marriage that needed room to breathe. The children are wonderful. The house is warm. And sometimes I hear you two arguing in voices you think are quiet, and I know some of that arguing is about space and money and the shape of a life that includes me. A shared room is not what I wanted a year ago. It is not exile. It is an option. I would like to visit it. I would like to decide with both of you in the room."
They visited Cedar Ridge on a Saturday. The shared room was smaller than the private suite. Two beds. A curtain on a track for privacy. A window that looked onto the parking lot instead of the garden. Margaret stood in the center of the room and turned slowly, as if measuring it with her body. Allison stood near the door. Daniel stood by the window and watched a woman in a wheelchair being pushed toward the dining hall and thought about dignity and square footage and the difference between being unwanted and being carefully placed.