He fought them only with words.
“Claire! Claire, please! I’m his father!”
My father moved to stand beside me.
“No,” he said softly as Garrett was pulled toward the elevator. “You were his disappointment.”
The elevator doors closed on Garrett’s shouting.
And then there was silence.
A terrible, ringing silence.
I turned back toward Ethan’s room, suddenly exhausted beyond language.
My father touched my shoulder.
“Go sit with him.”
“What are you going to do?”
His face softened.
“What I should have done the first time Garrett made you cry.”
“Dad.”
“I won’t do anything that dishonors Ethan,” he said. “But I will make sure the truth has teeth.”
I was too tired to argue.
I went back inside my son’s room and sat beside the bed.
The hours between night and morning do not feel real in a hospital after a death.
Time bends.
People come in with papers and gentle voices.
A chaplain asked if I wanted prayer. I said yes, though I didn’t know who I was praying to anymore.
A nurse named Angela brought me water I didn’t drink.
Dr. Harris came back twice, each time looking more human than doctor.
My father stayed mostly in the hallway, making quiet calls. I heard fragments through the door.
