It made truth more important.
I couldn’t change the last word my son whispered.
I couldn’t give him the father he had asked for in that emergency room.
I couldn’t negotiate with the monitor, reverse the doctor’s words, or reopen the door that slammed shut when they called the time.
But I could refuse to let Brad rewrite that night.
And in the end, that was the only case I needed to win: not a case against him, but a case for reality.
Evan had been loved.
Evan had not been alone.
His mother had been holding his hand.
