misunderstood.
“We’re waiting for June to see the doctor.”
Sylvia looked at me as though that were obvious but irrelevant.
“He’s exhausted. He cannot sit here all night.”
“So am I.”
Her expression hardened.
“You’re her mother.”
Then, right there in the waiting room, Sylvia finally said out loud what she had been communicating for years.
“He didn’t sign up for this much stress. You’re the mother. Figure it out.”
The room became silent.
Not ordinary silence.
The uncomfortable silence that falls over a public space when everyone suddenly realizes
