Dova had arrived at the house at two in the afternoon, as the family had requested, with the kit in her bag and no one present except the ghost of the connection the woman had left behind. The family had gone to her sister's for the day. They had asked for the ceremony to be conducted in their absence, which was within the guidelines and which Dova had done many times before.
The note was on the kitchen table, folded in half, with her name written on the outside in a hand that was still precise. Inside it said: please do not release. My reasons are my own. I am asking this while I am well.
It was dated three months before she died. There was no ambiguity about capacity.
Dova set the note down and sat with it for a while. The holder in question was the woman's husband of thirty-eight years, who had been experiencing the severed-signal grief since her death ten days ago. It was measurable on the standard scale. The family had described it to Dova on the phone: he woke at four in the morning reaching for a presence that was no longer there. This was what the severed-signal grief felt like when the connection had been long and deep.
The ceremony was Dova's professional function. She had a certificate. She had conducted 1,100 releases in fourteen years. She had never encountered a formal objection from the deceased, which was perhaps not surprising; most people did not think to leave one.
The woman had thought to leave one. She had written it while she was well, three months before she died, and had placed it on the kitchen table addressed to the release reader, which meant she knew a release reader would come and had decided that this was the appropriate way to be heard.
Dova did not know what the reasons were. The note said the reasons were her own. This was, legally, sufficient. A person could ask not to be released and give no reason at all and the request was still a request.
She sat at the kitchen table with the note in one hand. Her kit was on the table. The afternoon light came through the window at a low angle, making the surface of the table a particular pale gold.
In fourteen years she had closed every door she had been asked to close.