A real person.
I sat in that small waiting room for another half hour, just looking at what little I could see of her profile.
One public photo: Diane at what looked like a birthday party, laughing at something off-camera.
She had dark hair and an open, unguarded smile.
In the background, slightly out of focus, a small boy in a paper crown.
I closed the app and put my phone away.
Outside, the afternoon had turned grey.
I drove home slowly, both hands on the wheel, and when I got inside I sat at the kitchen table without taking off my coat.
My mother-in-law called at six.
I let it ring.
She called again at six-fifteen.
I picked up.
“I heard you left the hospital,” she said.
“Are you all right?
Do you need me to come over?”
“I’m fine, Ruth.”
“You don’t sound fine.”
“I’m tired.”
