I Prayed for a Miracle, Now I Lock My Door Against My Son

whispered, like we were in church.

“First time?”

I let out a humorless laugh. “No.”

She nodded, like she understood the kind of no I meant.

“My husband,” she said quietly. “Stroke. He looks the same. Doesn’t act the same. Everyone says, ‘At least he’s alive.’” Her lips pressed together. “Sometimes I want to scream.”

There it was again.

That phrase.

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