And then the oddest thing happens. Dorothy looks at her, and for a moment, her eyes have become clear, lucid, and fierce—as if the woman Helena has always known has somehow fought through the tangle of dementia and ruined neural pathways to see her daughter for a fleeting breath. “I was always proud of you,” her mother says. “You were?” “You are the best thing I ever did.” Helena wraps her arms around her mother, tears streaming. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you, Mom.” But when she pulls away, the moment of clarity has passed. She’s staring into the eyes of a stranger.
