“Then I said those words I’d heard Mum say to some women, with more conviction than any of her other predictions. I said, “I see you leaving.” I see you leaving. It’s what my mother would say to women who cried into soggy, balled-up handkerchiefs while they asked, “Will I ever be happy, Madame Mae?” She’d say it over and over, at every reading: I see you leaving, I see you leaving, I see you leaving. Until finally they saw themselves leaving too.”
