“All the conversations we had where she knew and I didn’t.
I keep wondering what she was feeling.”
“I can tell you what she told me,” Patricia said.
“About a month before she passed, she had a bad night.
I sat with her for a while.
She said — ” Patricia paused, remembering.
“She said, *I found her.
After everything, I found her.
And she’s good.
She’s genuinely good.
I didn’t dare hope for that part.*”
My throat tightened.
“She said she didn’t dare hope for that part,” I repeated.
“No.
She hoped you existed.
She hoped you were alive and well.
But she said she hadn’t let herself hope that you’d be — her words — *someone she’d actually like.*” Patricia laughed softly.
“She said it like it was a bonus.”
I laughed too, a little.
The way you laugh when something is sad and true at the same time.
I put the ring on my finger.
