17

The bedside lamp cast amber shadows across Elaine's hollow features. She lay propped against a mountain of pillows, her hands—now more bone than flesh—resting atop the blanket. The oxygen machine measured time in mechanical breaths.

Cass hunched forward in the chair beside her, his large frame collapsing inward, elbows digging into knees, fingers interlaced as though in prayer. The immensity of his helplessness pressed against his chest.

Elaine turned to face him, with some difficulty.

"Cass," she whispered.

"I'm here." He shifted closer, enveloping her fragile hands in his.

A smile came across her face. "You've always been here. Always... holding on so tightly."

His jaw locked against words he refused to hear. "Elaine, don't... We can figure something out. There's got to be another—"

"Cass." Her interruption came soft but unyielding. Her fingers tightened against his palm with what little strength remained. "You have to let me go."

He turned away, his throat constricting around unspoken protests. The familiar anger that had carried him for months now flickered uselessly. "It's not fair," he managed, voice unsteady. "You... you shouldn't have to go like this. It's their fault."

A sigh escaped her—part exhaustion, part infinite patience. "Cass, listen to me." She waited until their eyes met. "This isn't about blame. Not anymore. Things... they just happen. Life isn't fair, but the real tragedy is letting it destroy the time we do have."

He shook his head, unwilling to accept the weight of her wisdom. "I don't know how to stop. I don't know how to just... let it go."

"You have to," she insisted, her gentleness belying her resolve. "I can't leave knowing you'll spend the rest of your life consumed by this. By anger, by guilt." Her fingers brushed his cheek. "You've given me so much, Cass. More than I could have ever asked for. But now, I need you to promise me something."

He swallowed hard. "Anything."

"Promise me you'll live. Truly live. Let yourself be happy again."

Words formed and dissolved on his tongue. He felt her hand slip from his grasp, settling back onto the blanket. "I promise," he finally said.

Her eyes searched his face, finding the lie beneath his words. Still, she smiled. "Thank you."

The machine's hum filled the silence between them until she spoke again. "It's time."

Cass's breath caught. "No. Not yet. Please."

Her smile remained steady though tears traced silvery paths down her cheek. "It's okay. I'm ready."

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I love you," he managed, his composure fracturing.

"I love you too," she whispered. "Always."

Cass forced himself upright, his legs unsteady beneath him. Each step toward the door seemed to stretch across an impossible distance. At the threshold, he turned back.

"I can stay," he offered.

"No." Her hand moved toward the bedside drawer. "Go now, please." The finality in her voice brooked no argument.

The door closed with a soft click that reverberated through him.

In the living room, Cass surrendered to the couch, burying his face in his hands. Grief crashed through him in waves, years of rage and sorrow breaking free at once. He made no attempt to stem the tide.

Darkness gathered as the sun retreated. The only illumination came from his phone screen glowing on the coffee table. It vibrated once, then fell silent. Cass wiped his face with his sleeve, vision blurred as he glanced at the display.

A single message waited:

"READY?"