“I’m sorry for your loss,” she began.
Wrong way to start. “Why do people say that?”
She took a sip of her overly sweet concoction. “Say what?”
Ignoring her question, I asked one of my own. “What exactly are you sorry for?”
Her wide-set grass-green eyes blinked rapidly as she frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow.”
“Real easy question, Doctor. Are you sorry for the life I’m forced to live without my husband and my son? Are you sorry my house was broken into? Maybe you’re sorry for the expense of the funeral.” Not giving her a chance to respond, I added, “Saying you’re sorry doesn’t change shit about my life.”
Dr. Upton flinched and turned bright red. It took her a moment to compose herself. She drank a good portion of her coffee before saying, “Your anger is understandable. Your life has been tragically changed. Allow me to ask a question, and I’d appreciate an honest answer. What are you so angry about?”
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