“Please don’t make me explain now. Bring her home first.”
I was angry and certain he was hiding a betrayal. Yet he was dying in front of me, and refusing his final request felt cruel. So I agreed.
Grace arrived during a rainstorm carrying one backpack. Our children welcomed her immediately, treating her like a sister before I understood why she was there.
That evening, I passed David’s room and heard him laughing for the first time in months. Grace sat beside his bed holding his hand. The tenderness between them made my stomach tighten.
Soon, I noticed they met privately whenever Grace returned from school. Their conversations stopped whenever I approached.
Once, I heard Grace whisper, “I can’t keep doing this.”
David answered, “Only a little longer. Please.”
When I confronted him, he promised I would understand later.
Later became the only answer he gave me.
