Her cheeks tense up. She wants to shout, Who are you? Why won’t you stop? No one has ever looked at me like this, except to judge, rob, or rape me. In my whole life, my whole life, never… . Her face reddens. With slow, heavy, disbelieving swings of her head, she starts to cry. The tears do whatever they want. Call it sobbing. The therapist is crying, too. Why? Why am I sick? What’s wrong with me? Loneliness. But not for people. You’re mourning a thing you never even knew. What thing? A great, spoked, wild, woven-together place beyond replacing. One you didn’t even know was yours to lose. Where did it go? Into making us. But it still wants something.