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Although Tamara was physically and mentally drained, sleep evaded her. The conversation she'd had with her mother earlier that evening kept going round and round in her mind, making sleep impossible. She clasped her hands together to help quieten their shaking and tried to ignore the loud pounding of her heart.

The evening had taken its toll! Although she was hesitant in doing so, she found she had to increase her medication. She felt if she didn't, she would shatter into a million pieces. "I need my sons!" she cried. "I need to hold their soft little bodies in my arms!"

Lying there, she recalled how pleased her mother had been as she related to Tamara how she hadn't had a drink in two months. How she had come in contact with other alcoholics like herself and how readily they had agreed to help her cope with her alcoholism. "Why now, Mother? Why take this step now?" Tamara had asked. She had looked at Tamara with tears in her eyes and said, "When I spoke to you on the telephone a few months ago, I realized for the first time in years that you needed me. You see, Tamara, as long as I told myself that you were capable and self-sufficient and didn't need me, it made it easier for me to indulge in my drinking and lessen the guilt I was feeling about our relationship. But that night, you opened up to me. I heard the desperation and need in your voice and I knew that if I ignored you this time, I would lose you forever. Please give me the chance to try and atone for the many injustices I've done to you. Just the chance, that's all I ask!"

Mrs. Symonds remained at the kitchen table. Her thoughts were also on the events of the evening. "I expected too much", she told herself. "Why should Tamara believe anything I said?" She recalled how stony-faced Tamara had looked and how she had tried to hide her shaking hands. Mrs. Symonds had longed to reach across the table and hold Tamara's hands in hers but was afraid that Tamara would draw away. "My poor child!" she thought. Although she knew Tamara had panic attacks, she knew nothing about the disorder except that it was making her daughter's life a living hell and that, combined with being separated from her sons, was making her daughter a mere shadow of her former self. She must find some way to show her how sorry she was and how much she loved her. And in that instant, she knew what she could do! She would go to Steven and beg him, if she must, to return the boys to Tamara. She could then leave, content in the knowledge that for once in her life, she had been there when her daughter needed her.

Although it was early, Mrs. Symonds knew that time was of the essence. Seeing her suitcase lying on the living room floor where she had placed it when she arrived, she picked it up and placed it in the closet. Going to the telephone table, she found Steven's address and, picking up the telephone, she called a taxi.

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