“No reason,” I say. “They’re just very beautiful.”
That night, I didn’t do the massage. I didn’t heat a compress. I didn’t wipe the crust away. I just held Liora on my chest as she slept, her damp lashes glued together, her breath a soft, rhythmic hush against my collarbone. And I realized, for the first time in a year, that I didn’t know how to hold her without trying to fix her. how do you unblock a tear duct
The specialist’s voice on the phone was grave. “We need to schedule the balloon dilation. Under general anesthesia.” “No reason,” I say
The tears lasted a week. Then the crust returned. Thicker than before. The duct had scarred closed, more stubborn than ever. her damp lashes glued together