When I Was Four, My Mother Left Me Alone in a Church—Twenty Years Later She Returned Crying, “We Need You”

Then:

“If I choose to contact the transplant center, I will contact them.”

My mother tried touching my arm.

I stepped away.

“Do not touch me.”

PART 20 — FLORENCE

That night, rain hammered Florence’s sunroom windows.

I sat on the ottoman beside her chair.

She listened without interruption.

When I finished, she asked: