“There’s breakfast coming,” he said.
“I’m not hungry.”
“You will be after you smell the toast.”
It was such an ordinary sentence that my throat tightened.
Ordinary kindness can feel enormous when you have gone without it too long.
The morning passed in pieces. A doctor came in and reviewed my injuries. No surgery for the arm, thankfully, but I would need follow-up appointments and physical therapy. The cracked ribs would heal slowly. The stitches would come out in several days. I was told to avoid lifting anything heavier than five pounds.
Noah weighed nearly nine.
I looked at him and felt panic rising again.
Before it could swallow me, Evelyn placed a hand over mine.
“We will help you,” she said.
Not, “You should have thought about this.”
Not, “How will you manage?”
Just: We will help you.
At ten thirty, Richard’s attorney arrived.
Her name was Maren Cole, and she looked nothing like what I expected. I had imagined someone severe and intimidating, but Maren wore a soft gray coat, carried a canvas bag full of folders, and had kind eyes that missed nothing.
