"Fixed," she would say at the end, tapping the last column with a fountain-pen puncture. It was her seal — a tidy promise that whatever imbalance had been brought in would be made even. Fixing, to Sandy, was not about erasing consequence but about arranging consequence so it fit the shape of one's life better. Sometimes that meant facilitating a reunion; sometimes it meant arranging a necessary, quiet cruelty that spared greater harm.