Sherry had told her to document everything. So Sarah did—every receipt, every exchange, a running log of her own ordinary life rendered into evidence. She felt the absurdity of it: building a case for her own innocence, accounting for herself to no one in particular, just in case. Just in case became her daily companion.
Their cousin’s daughter had a recital. Sherry said to keep living normally, so Sarah went. Diane was there. They didn’t speak, but Sarah watched her sister move through the room—warm, funny, the beloved one, the capable one bravely managing a difficult situation with a troubled sibling.