Helen did what she knew: cool cloths, blankets smoothed, quiet words to the nurse that carried the weight of a thousand thank-yous. Lisa hovered near the wall, fingers trembling around a paper cup.
“I messed up,” she whispered. “I thought I could do everything. I should’ve called sooner.” Helen kept her eyes on the children. “You wanted space,” she said softly. “Somewhere along the way, you forgot respect.”
The words didn’t sting; they settled. Truth spoken in a whisper can land louder than a shout.
