The first woman, the woman who was in danger of losing all her hard-won self-confidence back, was leaning forward in her chair. Her hand was poised over her plate, a fork ready to jab at a mushroom atop her chopped sirloin. She had already finished the mashed potatoes but the beans were untouched.

She sat back a bit, crossed her legs, pointed her toes in the uncomfortable high heeled slingbacks. She unwrinkled her frown, looked at her plate and with the side of her fork, lopped off a good chunk of beef and swabbed it in gravy.