Mother.
I hadn’t even noticed that my husband was standing behind me.
“You’re back,” he said softly.
I turned to him. He looked exhausted: dark circles under his eyes, his shoulders slumped as if he hadn’t slept in days.
“What… what is all this?” I whispered.
He did not respond immediately.
Instead, he accompanied me to the small room at the end of the hall.
I slowed my pace when I saw the hospital bed set up inside.
The machines hummed softly. Tubes stretched across the sheets.
And there it was.
My stepson.
So pale.
Much thinner than before.
Beside the bed was a plastic container filled with small folded paper stars.
My husband took one and put it in my hand.
“She does one every time the pain becomes unbearable,” she said.
I looked down at the fragile star, carefully folded in bright blue paper.
“He thinks that if he gets a thousand,” my husband continued gently, “you’ll say yes.”
Those words hit me like a punch to the heart.
I felt my throat close up as I looked down at the bed.
Her eyes slowly opened when she heard my voice.
When he saw me, a faint smile appeared on his gaunt face.
“I knew you would come,” she said weakly.
My heart was broken.
“You always come back.”
That hurt.
For more information, please continue to the next page.
