the knitting down.
“In her last week, Rosie told me about you every day. She called you the boy who chose to stay. Those were her words.”
“Would you say that in court?” I asked.
“I’ll say it anywhere they’ll let me.”
“Tomorrow you’ll have a settlement offer.”
That night I called a legal aid attorney, a tired woman named Denise who answered her phone at nine in the evening. I gathered everything. Visitor logs. Receipts for flowers and chocolates. Statements from three nurses and an aide.
Denise read it
