Now her expression was guarded.
“She told me not to be angry with you,” Linda said.
I looked down.
“That sounds like Sophie.”
“It does.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I know that isn’t enough.”
“No,” Linda said. “It isn’t.”
I accepted that.
She sat in one of the chairs, and after a moment, I sat across from her.
“When Sophie lost the first baby,” Linda said, “she called me from the bathroom floor. You were asleep in the bedroom. She didn’t want to wake you because you had a presentation the next morning.”
My chest tightened.
“I didn’t know that.”
“I know.”
She folded her hands tightly in her lap.
“After the second loss, she said you both stopped speaking the same language. She said you looked at her like she was a room you couldn’t bear to enter.”
I closed my eyes.
“That’s what it felt like,” I admitted. “Not because I didn’t love her. Because I didn’t know how to walk into that room without falling apart.”
