She hugged Lonnie at Christmas knowing what she knew.

She let me believe she was weak, and she never once corrected me, because correcting me would have meant explaining, and explaining would have meant the war coming out into the open before she’d finished fighting it.

She chose, over and over, to be misunderstood by the daughter she was saving, rather than risk the saving.

I don’t know that I could have done it.

I don’t know that many people could.