Late in the week, I patiently wait on the sofa as Edith places her glasses over her nose and opens her tablet to take notes.

“So, how are you today, Sylvie?”

Her question has many answers, answers that she will pry, dig, and pillage for until I open up and let her in. I’ve decided not to mention the estate meeting at Omar’s firm early next week. I can’t discuss my feelings on returning to the office. They’re too raw, and I don’t think I could endure an hour on the ...