A few minutes later, Mrs. Bennett walked into the room.
I didn’t need to ask if she had spoken to her son. It was written all over her face. The careful expression, the tight smile, the way she clasped her hands in front of her as if holding something back. Her shoulders were a little too straight, like she was bracing herself, and her voice, when she finally spoke, was gentle... almost too gentle.
She walked closer, placing what was meant to be a warm, loving hand on my shoulder.
“How are you doing?” she asked, soft and sweet. “How are you feeling?”
I hesitated for a moment before answering. “I’m feeling… I don’t know,” I admitted honestly. “It’s still too early to say. I just started taking the medication.”
She nodded slowly, lips pressing together in a way that looked thoughtful bu
