He Said My Mother Dying Wasn’t His Problem

he clearly hadn’t read. He stood up when I came in like I outranked him too, which I didn’t.

I hugged him so hard I sloshed coffee onto the floor.

“Careful,” he said. “Hospital coffee’s already suffered enough.”

He smelled like damp denim and the peppermint lozenges old men carry in their pockets for fifty years.

“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“By not continue reading …