smell I had grown used to, a smell that clung to my clothes, my hair, my skin. It was

d me I w

rief had br

. She would hold my hand, her touch cold, and tell the doctors how I had

she would whisper, just loud enough for me to he

rible thing

he line of duty. At his memorial service, I stood beside the open casket, expected to weep for the ma

e his left eyebrow, from a childhood fall, wa

in our summer cabin, the one we were supposed to take Billy to for hi

surprised to see me.

eave," he said, stepp

ho is in that casket?"

here was a shootout. Mark was killed. David saw his chance. A new life with Emily, free from me and Bi

loved you. It was always Emily," he sai

ieving brother, and his mother, the grieving parent, had already laid the groundwork. They told everyone I was unstabl

s white room, and

hetic nurse that he cried for me every night. He didn' t understand where his

s nerves. She complained to David that

into his son' s room. He didn' t hold him. He didn' t comfort

y never

d exhausted, gave his son the wrong dose of cough medicine. Everyo

y was my reason for fighting, my reason for trying to get out of this

ls, and the crushing, silent weight of what I had lost. David had t

yourself, desperation is a powerful key. I tied a sheet, tor

k about David or Emily anymore. I thought about Billy. His small hand in mine, hi

ce. He would live his happy life with Emily, built o

the cha

ess t

blindi