Ethan
The sound of papers sliding across the desk breaks the silence of the room.
I'm standing, I don't sit, I can't. I feel that if I sit, something inside me will give way… and I don't know if I'll be able to get up afterward.
The doctor in front of us maintains that professional, measured expression, which doesn't reveal too much, but also doesn't hide the seriousness of the moment.
Clara is sitting on the examination table, more recovered, more aware.
I'm still here, although I know it's not what she would want. Here, I feel like an intruder, someone who's in the wrong place.
Her mother is beside her, holding her hand with a gentle firmness, as if that contact were the only thing keeping her calm.
I'm a little further back, as if that were my place now… Far away.
Present… but
