Jacob sat on the edge of the hospice bed, clinging to Marianne’s frail hand. A knife stabbed his heart with each of her frail breaths.
“I’m so tired,” she mumbled, her lips thin and pale.
He held her hand to his cheek, her skin ice to his. It had been so long since she’d felt warm.
Marianne chuckled, her fingers twitching. “You haven’t shaved.”
He wanted to cry, but instead he laughed with her. “You like the shadow.”
Her lips twitched. “Yes. . . We’ll be together again, won’t we?”
The familiar knot in his stomach twisted. It was a question they’d avoided since her diagnosis. Instead they’d talked about when they first met, their wedding, the pain from miscarriage after miscarriage. But at least they had each other.
Until now.
“We have to be,” Jacob promised, but they both knew of the lie. No one truly knew what came next.
Marianne sighed, her eyes closing and her breathing growing more labored. “I’m so tired.”
Pain welled behind Jacob’s eyes. Hospice had warned this would happen, but there was no way they could ever be prepared.
“Please tell me you see a better place,” he begged, desperate to know at least she was fading into a happier life.
Tears streaked down her cheeks. “I wish I could tell you. I see . . . nothing. “
“At least remember me wherever you go.”
Marianne nodded for the last time. As he brought her fingers to his lips, her strength finally failed her.
Her life was gone.
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