Two nurses paused near the desk.
A hospital volunteer stood beside the elevators.
Several families in the waiting area were listening openly.
My mother looked around.
“You cannot be angry with us without being angry with him.”
I held up the contract.
“You signed this to get rid of her.”
Then I pointed toward Ben.
“He signed it to give her time, money, and a way out.”
“That is not the same.”
“We did what we thought was necessary,” Dad snapped.
“For whom?”
Neither of them answered.
“For Rosie?” I continued. “Or for yourselves?”
My mother’s eyes filled with tears.
“We worried you would sacrifice your own life caring for her.”
“That was never your decision to make.”
“She is your sister.”
“Yes.”
“And you would have felt responsible.”
“I love her.”
“Love is not always enough.”
“No,” I said. “But control is not love at all.”
The corridor became completely silent.
