“And today, today he did something, and I couldn’t even… I couldn’t find the words on the phone.”
Diane started walking again, faster now, her shoes squeaking on the polished floor. I kept pace.
“I’ve been jealous of a 17-year-old boy,” she said, almost to herself. “I’ve been jealous of him for being able to do something I can’t. Do you know how that feels? To resent the person who is keeping your child afloat?”
I didn’t know what to say. I reached for her elbow, and she let me hold it for one second before pulling away.
“It’s who I’ve been,” she said, sighing. “And I hate it.”
We stopped outside Room 412.
There was laughter inside, real, surprised, gasping laughter! Lily’s laughter was the kind I hadn’t heard in months!
Diane put her hand on the door. She finally looked at me, her eyes wet.
