Elizabeth knew that everyone’s let’s-pretend-nothing’s-wrong act was for her sake. Maybe she should’ve been grateful. But somehow, it made it worse, as if Henry’s behavior were so deviant that they had to cover it up. If Henry had cancer or hearing loss, everyone would’ve felt pity, sure, but not shame. They would’ve gathered around, asking questions and expressing sympathies. Autism was different. There was a stigma to it. And she’d stupidly thought she could protect her son (or was it herself?) by saying nothing and desperately hoping no one would notice.
