But it had never really become spare.
The walls were still lilac.
Emily had chosen that color when she was four.
There were faded horse pictures on one wall and tiny glow-in-the-dark stars near the ceiling.
For years, I had considered repainting it.
I never did.
Lily sat on the edge of the bed.
“I feel sorry for him.”
I sat beside her.
“That’s okay.”
“But I’m angry.”
“That’s okay too.”
“I read everything.”
“I know.”
“He was scared.”
“Yes.”
“I understand why.”
She looked toward one of Emily’s horse pictures.
“But I don’t know if I can get past it.”
“You don’t have to.”
Her voice tightened.
“Emily died.”
I took her hand.
“And then Dad left.”
She finally looked at me.
“I don’t understand how you lose one daughter and then choose to lose the other.”
There was no answer that would make that sentence less painful.
So I did not lie to her.
“You may never understand.”
Her eyes filled.
“You stayed.”
“Of course I stayed.”
“No, Mom.”
She shook her head.
“You stayed for everything.”
I couldn’t speak.
“The nightmares.”
Her voice trembled.
“The doctor appointments. Every time my chest hurt and I thought I was going to die like Emily.”
