Chapter Two: A Perfect Day

A lawyer was unconscious at home while ‘she’ filed evidence in court.” “What are you saying?” “Did you go inside?” Fragments surfaced: blue curtains, a white chair, a bottle. I retained the facts of my mother's death but could no longer picture her final face. The blankness was smooth and comforting. “It's a sleep clinic.” He studied my eyes. “Do you remember what I said the night your mother died?” “It doesn't matter anymore.” His face recoiled. “Pain doesn't stop existing because you forget it.” “At least it stops controlling me.” My calm was cruel. “Isn't that what you wanted? For three years, every time you watched me fail to sleep, you looked at me as if I were evidence against you.”