And I know now that it wasn’t just from disappointment, as it had been the first time. This time there was more. This time her tears flushed from the anger that laced her disappointment. Two weeks earlier they’d come in sobs. This time they’d come in heaves spliced into a tantrum of fury: that her boy could turn right around and do it again after the sheer pain of the last two weeks was to her unthinkable. If she was swatting at anything that day, it was the Satan in me.