“I don’t think you understand. You watched my house. You left an injured cat where my child would find him. Now strangers online think I’m using my son for attention.”
Silence followed.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“Sorry doesn’t explain it.”
“You’re right.”
I gripped the phone tighter. “You don’t get to pull my child into your grief without asking me first.”
“I know, Cecelia,” she said softly. “And I deserve that. My son was Leo. He died fourteen months ago.”
The anger inside me faltered.
“I’m sorry,” I said more quietly. “But I still need to know why you left the cat at my house.”
