Dorothy sat across from me, shoulders caved inward, fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve. She looked nothing like the woman I had last seen thirteen months ago. Her face was fuller, round in a way that made her eyes seem smaller, and her once-slim frame had softened with weight gain that she made no attempt to hide. It was the kind of change that did not happen casually. It was the kind born from pain that simmered beneath the skin for months.

At first, I struggled to recognize her. I stared ...