I was chopping vegetables when my four-year-old daughter

wrapped around my finger.

Every lie Diane plants has a root.

But now, finally, each root is being pulled into the light.

Near midnight, though no one says the time aloud, the hospital room grows quiet. My sister sleeps in a chair. Andrew sits on the floor because he says he does not deserve comfort, and I do not argue with him.

Emma opens her eyes.

“Mommy?continue reading …