I was grateful for that, and ashamed of being grateful, until I realized there was no useful purpose in judging every feeling as it appeared.

“My baby,” she said.

I held her hand.

The clinician explained gently.

Clara listened without looking at any of us.

Her gaze remained fixed on a small mark in the ceiling tile.

When they asked whether she had questions, she shook her head.

A minute later, she asked the same question I had asked: whether they were certain.