She could not speak well; the stroke had taken part of that.

But she could understand, and I watched her understand, as Kingsbury told her what had been found, that it was over.

I had spent my whole childhood chasing a warmth in this woman that I could never reach, inventing reasons for her coldness, blaming myself for it.

Now I stood at the foot of her bed and watched her eyes, and there was no warmth there, and there never had been, and finally I understood that the absence had never been about me at all.

Chapter 19 — The Slow Recovery

My father did not come back all at once.