I feel like I’m dying, you said, and I wanted to say you’ve been dead for years. But you seemed so sad then, the deep-seeded kind of sadness with no real root, and it must be harrowing, I thought, to be mocked by a life that so little resembled anything you’d designed, to shrink into the shadow of a life that had begun without you. And so I did not mention how the light in your eyes had waned and withered or how you would always be longing because you had nothing to long for. Instead, I said you’re not alone*, and hoped it was enough.