Page 45

But the larger part of me, the part that is still his wife, still here for him no matter what, forces a smile onto my face.

I lean forward and kiss his forehead. “I’m happy you’re okay, baby.”

“Come here.”

One breath.

“I want.”

Another breath.

“To hold you.”

“I’m here.”

I climb onto the bed beside him and put my face right next to his.

Our eyes meet and our hands find each other.

“I’m here.” I smile at him.

“God, I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you too.”

I kiss him and bury my face in his neck.

He smells like medicine and a strange sweet smell I can’t place, but underneath it all, I still smell him.

I start singing our song and look up at him. A small smile touches his lips as his eyes close.

My voice breaks.

I don’t know if I can continue.

Then the others join in, one by one. My father, my mother, my sister, my in-laws, all singing softly around him while I run my hand over his cheek.

I lean down and kiss him, feeling the slow breath leave his lungs.

“Ti amo,” I whisper.

An hour passes. Maybe more as we sing all of his favorite songs to him.

Time doesn’t feel real anymore.

We take turns telling him we love him, telling him stories and remembering the way he made us laugh, the way he changed our lives, the way he loved.

After his mother kisses him and leaves the room crying, I sit back down beside him and take his hand in mine.

A few moments later, I feel his fingers squeeze mine.

Softly.

I look up.

His eyes are open.

For a second, they find mine.