“He told you to call me.”
“He wrote it in the letter.
He said you were sick.”
“I had surgery last month.
I’m recovering.
It’s — I’ll be okay.
It’s just been a hard few weeks.”
“Do you have people around you?”
“My neighbor has been helping with Daniel.
And my friend Karen.
We’re managing.”
“Okay.” I exhaled slowly.
“I’m glad.”
“Can I ask you something?” Diane said.
“Yes.”
“Did you know?
Before the letter?”
“No.”
“I’m sorry.” And she sounded it — genuinely, without qualification.
“I thought about reaching out to him when I found out he was sick.
I didn’t know if it would make things worse.”
“It might have,” I said honestly.
“I don’t know.”
“He never met Daniel,” she said.
“I want you to know that.
I’m not — I wasn’t trying to hide Daniel from him exactly, but after a while it felt like the window had closed.
