Page 574 of End Game

That actually hurts.

Not because I believe him.

Because she does.

My mother is sitting ten feet away from me, grieving my death while I'm still alive.

I swallow. “I think there's something after this.”

Dad looks surprised.

Mom lifts her head.

“I don't know what it is. I know I picture it through Christianity because that's how you raised me. Those stories are part of me.”

Mom stares.

“But I don't believe whatever made me expects me to spend this life alone or miserable to earn the next one.”

Tears slide down her cheeks.

“I don't believe loving men or more than one person separates me from God.”

Dad's mouth opens.

I raise one hand. “I'm not asking you to agree.”

He stops.

“I need you to understand that I'm not walking away from anything holy.”

My chest hurts.

“I'm walking toward people I love.”

Nobody speaks for a long time.

Eventually Dad stands.

The conversation is over.

I know because I've known him long enough.

He doesn't storm away.

He doesn't tell me to get out.

He simply reaches the point where his decision is made and everything after it becomes unnecessary.

Mom stands too.

I do the same.

My legs feel normal.

That seems offensive.

Mom walks me to the entryway.