The table was booked for two, in spring, a year ago. She came anyway.
She dressed for it, to the last detail. The flowers are her own, brought from the house.
Her face is covered. There is no expression to read. She orders for both, and sits the way she was taught to sit.
Cancelling would have been an admission. It would have meant the thing had grown larger than she is, and she is not prepared to concede that in public, or at all. So the table is kept, and the evening is conducted precisely as it was planned, and nothing in her posture will admit what has happened, which is exactly how you can tell.