“He’s my son.

That means I love him.

It doesn’t mean I approve of everything he does.”

I cried then, in a way I had not allowed myself to cry at the office.

Helen didn’t tell me to be strong or forgiving.

She waited, handing me tissues when I needed them.

“I keep replaying the elevator,” I admitted.

“Sometimes I think the most humiliating part was Bridgett’s drink.