The tears slid into my hairline, hot and humiliating, but the nurse only handed me a tissue and pretended not to notice until I could breathe again.
Emily arrived thirty-four minutes later with her hair in a messy bun, a sweatshirt pulled over pajama pants, and a paper coffee cup she had clearly forgotten she was holding.
She stopped when she saw me.
Her face changed.
Not with disgust.
Not annoyance.
Fear.
Real fear.
“Oh, honey,” she whispered.
She set the coffee down and came to the bed.
She did not touch me until I nodded.
That carefulness nearly undid me.
The nurse explained the visitor restriction.
Emily listened without interrupting.
When she heard what Tessa had done, she turned toward the door as if she might walk straight into the hallway and find her.
Then she stopped herself.
Her hands curled once.
She took a breath.
“Okay,” she said. “What do you need?”
