It was 1935. Veronica’s little brother, Roger, was only two when he slipped and hit his head on the faucet in the bath. He was rushed to hospital. Veronica was nine years old at the time. Veronica was bundled into the car by her parents and they followed the ambulance to the hospital.
Roger was put on life support to breathe. He was unconscious. Veronica was left alone to sit in the waiting room outside the hospital room. Her parents were with little Roger.
There was a light behind Roger’s bed, and the shadow of his breathing reflected up and down, up and down, on the frosted glass door of the waiting room. Veronica watched it. The shadow rose and fell, rose and fell. An hour passed. Still the shadow rose and fell, rose and fell. Roger was breathing. The shadow rose and fell, rose and fell. Veronica could hear whispering coming from the room. The shadow rose and fell.
It stopped.
Veronica was only nine. But she knew.