My sister and I walked the same road—same medical school, same sleepless nights. But when it was over, our parents cleared her debt… and left mine behind.

Afterward, outside under a sky so bright it looked newly washed, my phone buzzed with a family group text. It was a photo: our parents standing beside a glass case at the Ohio State library, looking down at a new display. Inside was Mae’s manila envelope, the photocopy of her letter, and next to it a plaque: In honor of equality intended and equality restored. Established by the Collins family. The caption from Aunt Patty read: For the record and the records.

I felt something loosen that had been holding since I was seven and Jessica was almost-seven and our mother had said, in some kitchen I can still smell, “She just needs you more.” Maybe she had. Maybe sometimes she still did. But now I could need, too, and be met.

That night, I walked the Inner Harbor and dialed Jessica. “Ready for the next scandal?” I asked.

“Always,” she said. “But let’s start with dinner. Salmon and repentance are off the menu. I’m thinking crab cakes and forgiveness, with a side of fries.”

“Equal parts,” I said.

“Equal,” she said, like a prayer, and the line went soft as summer.