BECCA
Mom?
(Nat looks up at her)
Does it ever go away?

NAT
What.

BECCA
This feeling. Does it ever go away?

NAT
(Beat)
No. I don’t think it does. Not for me it hasn’t. And that’s goin’ on eleven years.
(Beat)
It changes though.

BECCA
How?

NAT
I don’t know. The weight of it, I guess. At some point it become bearable. It turns into something you can crawl out from under and carry around. Like a brick in your pocket. And you forget it every once in a while, but then you reach in for whatever reason and there it is. “Oh, right. That.” Which can be awful. But not all the time. Sometimes it’s kinda … not that you like it exactly, but it’s what you have instead of your son, so you don’t wanna let go of it either. So you carry it around. And it doesn’t go away, which is …

BECCA
What?

NAT
Fine … actually.

(They’re silent for a couple of beats. Becca takes the bag of toys and exits. The lights fade.)

*****
From Act Two, Scene Two of Rabbit Hole by David Lindsay-Abaire