Chapter 82

Her skin was always cold. Icy. Her hands had no strength left to them. None. That’s what scared him most. Those hands had already succumbed to death. Hands that cared for him, cleaned him, held him, soothed him, wiped tears from his eyes—they were gone. They couldn’t even wrap around his fingers anymore.

Colin slept in a chair next to her bed. He wouldn’t let her be alone when it happened. She never let him be alone when he was sick. He wouldn’t let her spend one minute of this by herself.

He hadn’t left once since that night he saw Dexter last week.

Thoughts of Dexter were too much to bear. They weighed him down, pulling Colin into a deep, black ocean of endless misery. As if Ma dying wasn’t enough.

She didn’t know what happened between them. Colin wouldn’t tell her. Couldn’t bear the thought of her hating Dexter. Colin felt completely alone in all this. Which, of course, was ludicrous. He was far from alone.