It was more like a plaintive howl than a scream. Visceral and primitive, the sound filled the small room and echoed down the hall, but she did not hear it as it emanated from somewhere deep in her soul. It wasn’t until a couple of weeks later that she asked her good friend, as they sat at the dining room table writing “thank you” notes, “Did I scream that night?”
“Tell me again why we’re doing this.”
He took a deep breath and considered his response. He resisted the urge to be flippant, recognizing that sarcasm, at this particular moment in time, would only further upset her. Without turning to look at her, he took her hand firmly in his and squeezed it reassuringly.