On day ten, I wept. Not the dignified tear-tracking-down-one-cheek kind. The ugly kind—snot and sobs and the word “why” repeated until it lost all meaning. Thalia finished adjusting my compression socks, then sat on the edge of my bed. She did not hug me. She did not shush me.
She walked out. I listened to her car start, reverse down the driveway, and disappear. thalia rhea my personal nurse
But she did not leave. Not really.
She did not apologize for my suffering. This was her superpower. On day ten, I wept