The Man Who Entered Our Bedroom at 1:13 Every Night

up again because sitting there felt impossible. I walked two steps, hit the dresser with my thigh, cursed, turned back.

“What does that mean.”

She watched the chemo drip through the line.

“It means I know you.”

“That sounds like blame.”

“Maybe it is.”

I waited.

“When your dad got sick,” she said, “you stopped sleeping. You stopped eating right. You checked continue reading …