The mother wanted the prison ended.
Her surviving daughter wanted someone to look inside before it was broken.
They sat so close that their sleeves touched, and for the first part of the consultation each had spoken as though the other would eventually understand. Now the mother held the plain summary flat on her knees while the daughter stared at the sheet showing the possible unstable seal.
“If he’s suffering there,” the mother said, “how long do we keep him suffering because we can’t bear an end?”
“You don’t know he’s there.”
“Neither do you. But you want everyone else to wait because you need him to be.”
The daughter stood. Her chair scraped hard against the floor. Tessa moved toward them without putting herself between their faces.
“We can pause,” she said.
