“She told me you’d had a fight. Then she laughed.”
“Laughed?”
Susan smiled faintly.
“She said, ‘He thinks nineteen means grown. Give him a few years.’”
I felt my throat close.
Susan squeezed my hand.
“She loved you. She knew you loved her too.”
I lowered my head and cried beside her bed.
That was what her family interrupted when they started pounding on my door.
Two days after her nephew threatened me, the police actually came.
Susan was awake, so I asked whether she wanted to speak with them.
“Yes,” she said.
The officers talked to her privately.
Then an adult protective services worker came the following afternoon.
I cooperated with everything.
Medication records. Doctor information. Receipts.
