Page 145 of I’m Already Gone

I want to reach for him, to feel the warmth of his skin one last time, to anchor myself to his presence. But my limbs feel cemented to the pier, heavy and unresponsive. An overwhelming exhaustion has claimed every muscle, every nerve. I try to moisten my lips, but my tongue refuses to move.

My heart beats so slowly, like a tired, weary drum. The world is narrowing, the edges blurring, and all I can cling to as the darkness closes in, is the whisper of a desperate plea: Thank you for our second chance and for loving me so deeply. I will go in peace because of you. Take care of our children. I’ll see you again soon, my love.

Ethan

Iblink my eyes open, greeted by the dark sky.

“What the—” I mutter.

I look down to see Lily out cold, peacefully sleeping in my arms.

“Sunshine? We fell asleep. Let’s get you back to the house and tuck into bed.” I try to move her, but she’s like a block of ice. Why is she so cold?

I freeze, every nerve ending screaming.

She is still. Too still.

The gentle rise and fall of her chest, the subtle quiver of her eyelids, the soft sound of her breathing are all gone.

No. Please, God, no.

With a strength born of desperation, I slowly move from under her and lay her on her back. My trembling fingers reach for her, gently sweeping her cheek. I suck in a shuddering breath, the air burning my lungs.

Her skin is white like fresh snow. Her lips are a chilling blue. There is no life, no flicker, no warmth.

“Oh, God, Lily,” I choke out, my voice a broken whisper. I wrap my arms underneath her, trying to lift her, but her body is stiff, cold as ice.

“No, no, no,” I whimper, finally pulling her into my lap. I rock her back and forth, a desperate lullaby for a life that has ceased to be.

“Oh God, oh God, oh God. Why?” The question tears from my lungs, ripped from the deepest part of my soul. “We had plans, Sunshine. I’m not ready for you to go,” I sob into her neck, burying my face in the familiar scent that still clings to her. “I love you, I love you, I love you.” The words are a mantra, a prayer, a desperate plea.

Then a trembling sound escapes my lips as I begin to sing “You Are My Sunshine.” Each note brings a flood of anguish.

If I had known this would be the last time I kissed her, touched her, I would’ve sacrificed everything to turn back the clock to four years ago. I would’ve held her tighter and never let her go. Now all that remains is a hollow cavity where my heart once beat.

I don’t hear the front screen door creak open as I make my way back to the house, my Sunshine in my arms. The world feels like a haze until Ollie’s voice cuts through.

It takes a moment for his words to sink in, but soon enough, I feel a little tap against my leg. He looks up at me, his eyes gazing at Lily. “Is Mama sleeping?” he asks.

“Yeah, buddy. She’s sleeping.” I choke on the lie, on the sheer effort of trying to keep my voice even.

“Why aren’t you in bed yet?” The question slips from my lips, but a tightness grips my windpipe, making it hard to speak.

“I was watching from the window, waiting for you and Mama to read me a story.”

“Okay, I’ll tuck Mom in first, and then it’s your turn.”

He nods, shuffling ahead of me. When we reach the door to the beach house, Sam walks toward us, a bright, easy smile on her face, but it vanishes the instant her eyes meet mine. She sees it. She sees the truth on my face.

“No,” she breathes, glancing at Lily in my arms. The color drains from her face.

I clear my throat, forcing out, “Can you help Ollie get ready for bed? And then… can you keep everyone out of our room for a minute and call the hospice nurse?”

She nods with fierce urgency. “Come on, Ollie,” she says, lifting him in her arms.

“Mama is still sleeping. She must be really tired,” Ollie says, his innocent observation a dagger twisting in my gut.

My knees almost buckle, a wave of nausea washing over me, and Sam’s grip on him falters, but she has just enough energy left to take him to his room.