The nurse pointed to the break room. “There’s a coffee pot in there. Help yourself.”
What was left in the pot was the day’s sludge, thick, undrinkable, so I filled a coffee cup with tap water. There was chocolate pudding in little plastic containers, but I didn’t take one. There were no spoons.
The social worker waited in the hallway outside my son’s room. “I have papers for you to sign, and it’s probably best that you do that soon.”
“I’d like to sit and collect myself. Think.”
“You can do that, if you want, but it won’t change anything.”