Dael had been forty-seven when Sera died. He was one hundred and eighty-seven now. The arithmetic was something he had learned not to do in the years since, but he had done it twice in the past week, preparing for the session.
"The archive request covers what period?" Fen asked.
"Thirty-eight to fifty-two. Her life, and the children's. The years we had together."
Fen wrote something on her screen.
"What's making you want to do this now?"
"My partner is thirty-four," Dael said. "She knows about Sera. She knows about the children. But she doesn't know what that life looked like from the inside. I've told her things. It doesn't feel like the same thing."
"And you want her to have access to the archive?"
"I want there to be an archive. Whether she accesses it is different."
Fen wrote something else.
"Does this feel like a betrayal?" she asked.
"Yes," Dael said.
"Of Sera?"
"I'm not sure. Of the way it was private. We didn't know anyone would live long enough for it to become a question."
"What would Sera have said about it?"
Dael considered. "She would have said yes. She was generous with herself in ways I'm not sure I understood at the time." He paused. "She would have said yes."
"Is that reason enough to stop?"
"I don't know yet," he said.
Fen wrote something. She did not say anything else about it. They moved to the forms.