My son-in-law called me crying: “Your daughter didn’t survive the delivery.” I rushed to the General Hospital, but when I tried to enter room 212, he blocked my path, gripped my shoulders, and whispered: “You don’t want to see her like this. Trust me.” Then I saw something in his eyes worse than pain: fear… and I realized that night they weren’t just hiding a goodbye, but the truth.
I saw the bed. I saw the monitors turned off. I saw a shape under the sheets. And as soon as I took one step further into the room, I realized that this was not a goodbye. It was a staged performance. The silhouette under the sheet had the clumsy rigidity of something put together…
