Emma

When the doctor and I entered the bathroom, which not surprisingly was even nicer than the one upstairs, the first thing I noticed was my reflection. I stood for a moment—Rett’s t-shirt falling to above my knees—wondering if the woman in the mirror was really me. She moved when I moved, tilted her head when I did, and her bloodshot eyes followed mine. Yet we were detached from one another.

I tugged at a small twig lodged in my ...