Looking back at that night, at how she’d felt so heard, Lorraine realized she had forgotten how to speak way before the stroke. She had stopped saying what was in her heart, stopped valuing her own voice. For so long, and out of fear, she’d parroted the words expected of her by Floyd, by the ladies at the club, by her own misguided belief that ignoring Joe’s memory was the best way forward. Not anymore. She would find her voice again.
