fault. But knowing that doesn’t stop it from hurting.”
She pressed the back of her hand beneath her eyes.
“I am her mother. I am supposed to know how to comfort her. I’m supposed to be the person she needs most.”
“You are the person she needs most.”
“It doesn’t feel that way.”
For the first time, I understood that Diane’s anger was not truly about Aaron.
It came from helplessness.
She had been forced to stand beside her daughter’s bed day after day, watching treatments cause pain she could not remove. Aaron’s ability to make Lily smile had become another reminder of everything Diane felt unable to do.
“I’ve been jealous of a seventeen-year-old boy,” she admitted. “I’ve resented him for being able to reach my daughter when I can’t.”
Her confession hung heavily between us.
“That doesn’t make you a terrible mother,” I said.
“It makes me feel
