At Sunday dinner, my son-in-law smiled across the …

“How short?”

“A matter of days, not months.”

I absorbed that without reacting. Then I unfolded the napkin and placed it on the corner of his desk. He glanced down at it, confused.

“That,” I said, “is from my daughter’s dining table last night. I carried it home by accident after my son-in-law humiliated me in front of a room full of relatives. I thought perhaps I should bring along something that reminds me why I’m here, since everyone else involved seems to have a short memory.”

Samuel looked at me for a long second.

Then he nodded. “Understood,” he said quietly. That was all.

No false sympathy. No lecture about family. No soft little speech about emotional decisions.