Sam gulps audibly. Glancing at him, I see that his eyes are wet with tears, which he is straining to hold back. I lay my hand, palm up, on the armrest of his chair. I would love to hug him with all my strength.

“But I can feel him,” he whispers hoarsely.

“You may wish you could, Sam, but that’s impossible,” says Dr. Saul, and his voice is full of sympathy.

Henri’s son’s tears are now running down his cheeks, and his voice breaks as he says more loudly, “I can!”

“Sam, kidding yourself won’t help.”

The boy claps his hands to his face, and now my blood is boiling at the fact that Dr. Saul isn’t even tactful enough to spare the boy such torment.

“You’re a horrible little bastard, Dr. Saul,” I remark.

“That is possible, Mrs. Tomlin. My wife said the same, shortly before she asked me for a divorce. By email, so she wouldn’t have to speak to me even one more time.” He tidies the papers spread out on the beige table, but I can see he’s affected by Sam’s silent sobbing. The boy’s shoulders are shaking. There isn’t another sound or movement. It’s a moment of shared solitude. Dr. Saul’s only love is his work, Sam’s missing his father, and as for me . . . I hadn’t realized how hardened I’d become over these two and a half years without Henri.

I get to my feet, kneel down in front of Sam, and take this little bundle of misery in my arms. He weeps and clings to me, and at that moment I know that, whatever happens, I’m going to have to deal with it.

After a while Sam stops crying and whispers, “It’s okay. I’m all right.” I sit down again.

Dr. Saul pushes the living will Henri signed over two years ago across the table. I look at the date. Shortly after I declared my love for him and he turned it down. And he still put my name on his living will? What the hell did the imbecile think he was doing?

But there’s another problem with the directive: my signature is missing.

“If Mr. Skinner continues to live in a coma, he will need rehabilitation but above all he will need emotional continuity. Not just for a few days, but for weeks, months, maybe for the rest of his life—however long or short that might be.”