Nick opened the diary for what might have been the hundredth time. With his cast removed, he could use both hands to turn the pages. But that only made it easier for him to find the one near the middle where his mother had written her final, devastating entry. Where her old-fashioned fountain pen had traced her final few letters – an f, an r and two es, free – then added a full stop to her life. The blank pages beyond that last word were confronting, making her absence seem terribly real.
f,refree–He’d wanted to know what his mother had been thinking and feeling in the days and hours before taking the pills. Now he knew. In a sense she’d come back to life through her written words. With a little imagination he could hear her speaking them aloud, could see her standing with the open diary
