He'd been turning the bad news over for weeks, looking for an angle that didn't exist — then he stopped. He was resigned. The path was closed. He would live inside the new shape of things.

She'd been watching the relationship come apart slowly for months, trying not to see it — then, sitting across from him at breakfast, she stopped trying. She was resigned. They were not going to make it. She would let him speak the words when he was ready. She would live with knowing.

He'd been getting second opinions, third opinions, for weeks — then the most recent scan came back the same as the others. He was resigned. The disease was not going to stop. He would plan the year around it instead of fighting it.