“You were frightened.”
“That doesn’t excuse everything.”
“No,” I agreed. “But it helps me understand.”
She looked down at her cup.
“I honestly believed I was losing Lily in every possible way. To the illness, to the treatments, even to the people who could make her happier than I could.”
“You were never losing her to Aaron.”
“I know that now.”
She smiled faintly.
“He wasn’t taking my place. He was helping her find her way back to us.”
I thought of my son sitting beside Lily’s hospital bed, surrounded by teammates, teachers, and a bald chaplain.
“I used to think raising a good child meant teaching him to behave, work hard, and treat people with respect,” I said.
Diane looked at me.
“What do you think now?”
“I think it means raising someone who sees another person’s pain and refuses to look away.”
Through the window, I could see Aaron standing in the kitchen, searching the pantry again.
