tissue from the box on the bedside table, which felt absurd given the circumstances, but my hands needed something to do.
“I’m so sorry,” she said. “About the visiting. About not coming sooner. About—”
“Mom.”
She looked up.
“I know you’re sorry,” I said. “And I believe you mean it. But I need you to understand something, and I need you to sit with it rather continue reading …
