Nuria's surfing the internet, and I’m having a meltdown.

All afternoon, every hour or so, a memory comes back, and I’m lost in my head, twitchy and sweating. She’s scrolling like I’m not over here losing my mind.

I lean against the ropes and let Jackson coach. I’ve got Jim and Conor in the ring. Jackson’s missed at least three fouls by Jim so far—in fairness, I caught ‘em too late to call—but that’s all right. Jimmy is watching, and he’s up next. Jim’s gonna go down the second after the buzzer.

It’s better that I hang back. Between the flashbacks and Nuria curled in her chair in the corner,...