For mine.

I had spent four years watching my son be administered, and two of those years I had spent silent because a man had told me that my speaking made it worse, and I had been carrying that since 2012, and here was a version of the world in which he walked into a room and said something.

I was forty-five years old with a bag of laundry and a household allowance when I should have been in that office refusing to leave, and twelve years later my son offered to do it for me and I said good.

I did not ask him what he was going to say.