“But we need to know if she’s doing it more frequently,” Meg said.

Ms. Boone made a note on the paper in front of her.

“Things are going to get a lot worse,” I said. “Sarah will have to leave school. We don’t know when that will be.”

From the look on Ms. Boone’s face, I could see that the gravity of the situation was becoming apparent.

“Sarah is going to die,” I said. It felt strange stating it so bluntly, at once terrifying and, in a sick-making way, freeing.

Ms. Boone put down her pencil. “Oh my.”

Later that night, Meg and I sat in front of the idle fireplace. “Did you see the look on Ms. Boone’s face?” Meg asked.

“The oh my look,” I said. “We’d better get used to it.”

“Why?” Meg started to cry.

I pulled her close. There was nothing to say. There was nothing to do.