Nobody reminded her of her position.
Every other Saturday, a black car stopped outside her apartment.
Idan would jump out before the driver had fully opened the door.
Sometimes they baked.
Sometimes they walked through the park.
Sometimes he talked about his mother.
Sometimes he talked about nothing important at all.
Adam occasionally came too.
The first few visits were uncomfortable.
Then, slowly, something changed.
Not restoration.
Not forgiveness in the simple way people liked to describe it.
Something more cautious.
Adam learned to listen without defending himself.
Clara learned that she could care about someone without pretending they had never harmed her.
One afternoon, Idan brought the old drawing he had given Clara before the trial.
The paper was wrinkled at the corners.
He placed it on her kitchen table.
“I forgot something.”
Clara smiled.
“What?”
He took out a pencil.
Beside the four figures, he drew a fifth.
