“Emily knew she wasn’t going to get better,” Kathy told him. “She spent the last days of her life doing exactly what she wanted to do.” He was really crying now—big, fat tears as he thought about his mother poring over all this information every night, trying to find something, anything, that would get him out. “She never told me,” John said. “She never told me she was doing this.” “She didn’t want to get your hopes up,” Joyce said. He swung around, wondering how long his sister had been standing behind him. Joyce didn’t look angry when she said, “Kathy, what are you doing?” “Interfering,” the
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