I didn’t blame Sasha. Not at all.
I’d been holed up in Flynn’s study for hours writing letters by hand. Even though my fingers were cramping, I refused to stop until I finished the last letter. My note to Flynn was the longest.
I finally ventured out and went to check on the children, peeking in on them, just to take a moment to watch them sleep. I started with Piper. I ran a hand across her back and gently touched the smooth skin of her cheek.
Iain slept with his mouth hanging open, one arm flung over his head, a leg resting on top of the covers. Noah was the opposite. He was tucked in, almost swaddled.
Hawk wasn’t in his bed, but I didn’t panic. I checked my bedroom, but he wasn’t sleeping in the center of the king-sized bed. I thought about where he would be and then I smiled, having an inkling. I traipsed down to the enclosed porch and found him curled up with Betty, a thick wool blanket tossed over them. Hawk clutched my missing phone to his chest.
I gently took the cell from him and contemplated waking Hawk so I could put him to bed but decided not to disturb him. Carrying him was out of the question. I could have a seizure and drop him.
The rain rapped a gentle rhythm on the roof.
“Mam?” Hawk whispered.
I stilled and then crouched down next to him. “Did I wake you?”
“No.” His eyes opened, and even though the enclosed porch was bathed in darkness, the terrace torches gave me enough light to see his face. “Do I have to go back to my bed?”
I smiled and ran a hand across his head. “No, my love. You don’t. You can sleep here.”
“Will you stay with me?” He sounded afraid.
“Did you have a nightmare?”
Hawk nodded.
“We have to move Betty,” I said.
He spoke to the sheep in Gaelic, and she quickly got down from the lounge. Hawk wiggled over to make room for me and then I slid beneath the blanket. He instantly rolled into my side, and I cuddled him against me. I called for Betty, and she jumped back up, but settled at our feet like she was a family dog.
“Am I squishing you?” I asked him.
“No.”
Soon, his breathing was deep, and I thought for sure he was asleep, but then he asked, “Mam, are you dying?”
The terror in his voice rammed apart my soul. How was I supposed to have this conversation with my son? How was I going to make him understand? How was I going to explain to him the complexities of the universe that even I didn’t comprehend?
And then I realized what I had to do.
“Sit up,” I said softly.
When he was facing me, I took a deep shuddering breath. “I know you heard Bella and Suze talking, didn’t you?”
He nodded.
“I’m sick. Very sick.”
His eyes widened in his face. “Is it the tumor? Is that what’s making you sick?”
I could murder the nannies for making me have this talk with my son before I was ready to.
“Yes. There’s a tumor growing in here.” I pointed to my cranium.
“What is a tumor? I asked Da and he didn’t tell me.”
This was part of my penance. I’d kept the truth from my husband and now I was going to have to tell my seven-year-old son alone.
