seeing her more than once a month. We thought the staff were taking good care of her.
He swallowed his saliva.
— She died on a Tuesday. The nurse told me she had been asking for us for days. We arrived at the time of the condolences, not before.
I could feel my eyes burning.
“I can’t turn back time,” Marc continued. “I can’t change what I’ve done—or rather, what I haven’t done. But I can decide that no other mother will be left alone if I go through this.”
That same evening, I called Sophie. She answered on the third call, her voice dry.
— Hello? Mom? Where are you? I turned around at the station and you weren’t there anymore!
“I’m at home,” I replied calmly.
— How did you get home?
— A former firefighter on a motorcycle gave me a ride home.
Silence. Then:
— Mom, finally! You know very well that he doesn’t
