November 16th He didn’t let me ride in the ambulance, said there wasn’t enough room. They took her away, unaware they let a wolf sit by her side. I am alone. November 18th It was black out when he stumbled through the doorway; his air was acidic with a hint of cinnamon. I squeezed my body behind the hamper in our laundry room, the shelf above my head, pressed down on me. My head hurts. I didn’t sleep that night. November 23rd She still wasn’t back yet. I hug her pink, knit sweatshirt—the one I use as a pillow. The faint scent of apples and honey, still clinging to the fibers. I miss her. November 30th My stomach pinches at the sides and my ribs faintly stick out from under my shirt. I went to the fridge at a time I should not have. The wolf is still awake. December 1st My body is a splintered mess. My body parts that hid beneath my clothes groan without me moving them. I am on the ground, wishing I could adjust myself to lay on my back. The hardwood floor was unyielding, making my shoulder sting. My stomach growls. December 7th - Morning The wolf calls to me. I don’t trust his words. But he says “She’s well enough now. We can go see her.” I still don’t trust him, but her pink sweatshirt smells damp and musty. Apples and honey are worth it, I say to myself. My body creaks like an old sofa, I stand for the first time without crying. December 7th - Afternoon The woman in the bed was pale. I didn’t recognize her until I noticed the red glasses on the bed’s side table. My mother looked older. I’m glad she didn’t have her glasses on. I fear she might notice my limp, the bruises. I make it to her side. She placed her hand on my cheek and jawline. I told myself not to wince, even though her touch was fire on my skin. Her thumb brushes a tear from my eye, I think she thought all my tears were for her; I wish they were. I struggle to get the pink sweatshirt out of the plastic bag I have with me, and lay it over her lap. The wolf towered behind me, eyes, unblinking. Apples and honey, I told myself. Mom, please get better soon.