Sometimes, when she sat with him as he lay sleeping in his bed, she liked to imagine that in his dreams he lived in a world where everyone understood him, where the language was real-maybe not English, but something that made sense to him. She hoped he dreamed of playing with other children, children who responded to him, children who didn’t shy away because he didn’t speak. In his dreams, she hoped he was happy. God could at least do that much, couldn’t he?

Now, driving along a quiet highway, she was alone. With Kyle in the back, she was still alone. She hadn’t chosen this life; it was the only life offered to her. It could have been worse, of course, and she did her best to keep this perspective. But most of the time, it wasn’t easy.

Would Kyle have had these problems if his father were around? In her heart she wasn’t exactly sure, but she didn’t want to think so. She’d once asked one of Kyle’s doctors about it, and he’d said he didn’t know. An honest answer-one that she’d expected-but she’d had trouble sleeping for a week afterward. Because the doctor hadn’t simply dismissed the notion, it took root in her mind. Had she somehow been responsible for all of Kyle’s problems? Thinking this way had led to other questions as well. If not the lack of a father, had it been something she’d done while pregnant? Had she eaten the wrong food, had she rested enough? Should she have taken more vitamins? Or fewer? Had she read to him enough as an infant? Had she ignored him when he’d needed her most? The possible answers to those questions were painful to consider, and through sheer force of will she pushed them from her mind. But sometimes late at night the questions would come creeping back. Like kudzu spreading through the forests, they were impossible to keep at bay forever.