Michael stood over me where I lay on the floor of his father’s study.

And then my son said the words that I think finally ended something in me that had been dying slowly for weeks.

He did not say, are you all right.

He did not call for help.

He looked down at his injured mother bleeding on the floor and he said, to his wife, take a picture before she cleans herself up.

Rachel took out her phone and photographed me lying there.