been waiting for one final moment when I would stop looking at the door.
Behind the oxygen mask, her pale lips moved.
No sound came out.
After twenty years, I understood her anyway.
No more crying.
It’s time.
Her other hand shifted beneath the blanket.
Slowly, painfully, she reached inside her clothing and pulled out something small.
The effort made her breathing change.
I leaned closer, afraid she was trying to remove a medical line, but she caught my wrist and pressed the object into my palm.
It was cold.
