Such messes my spouse left behind. Our finances in tricky tangles. Closets, drawers, cupboards sloppily stripped. All the good LPs: gone.

In Rena’s garden, beside the leaning fence, grew a tree as tall as the house was long. With silvery bark and pale, thin leaves, it sheltered summer flowers and watched them sleep through winter.

Melinda’s appointment is at 2 p.m., but she’s been waiting here since noon. “Just jitters,” she explains as I take a seat on the plush, architectural sofa opposite hers.