is talking about her. People have opinions. People are telling stories. They’re looking into her room.”
Anger began replacing my fear.
“You called me as though there had been an emergency. I drove here believing your daughter might have—”
I could not finish the sentence.
Diane’s expression hardened.
“Maybe Aaron should have thought more carefully before making decisions involving someone else.”
I stared at her.
“Do not blame my son for trying to support your daughter.”
“I’m not blaming him for supporting her.”
“That’s exactly what it sounds like.”
My voice was rising, and I forced myself to lower it.
“He has been here almost every day for months. He brings her food. He helps with schoolwork. He sits beside her when she is too tired to speak. He has missed practices and barely sleeps.”
“I know what he does,” Diane snapped.
“Then why are you speaking about him as
