My brother and sister were in the land my uncle called home,England. I was in the USA,so talk between my siblings and I was limited to letters,as my aunt wouldn't see how phone calls were a necessary thing. Beyond that,there wasn't much that ever came between Aunt Constance and I,save for the events of today. I was laying on my bed,facing away from the door so she wouldn't see me crying while I was trying to get a handle on my grief. Before coming in,she knocked. When I didn't respond,she walked in and set the tray down on the bedside table on the opposite side of my bed.

After that was done,she asked me why I was in a bad mood today. Due to the fact that I needed to believe what had brought me here was beyond my control,I didn't answer her,I also didn't feel that she had the right to ask me anything about my emotional reactions because she was unable to give me the love which would make me a whole girl again,and not just half a person. When she didn't get her answer,she waited a few minutes more,then she left. She knew that her usual way of dealing with this new problem I brought to her life would be the best thing for her to do. Basically,that amounted to leaving me alone,so I could come around on my own. Later,if that didn't happen,she would use her logical adult reasoning to try and help me through my pain.