“I’m just tired, my love.”
“You’re keeping something from me. I can feel it.”
He turned his face toward the wall.
“Please. Just let me hold you tonight.”
Three weeks into hospice care, he asked me something shocking.
“You’re keeping something from me. I can feel it.”
He reached beneath his pillow and pulled out a photograph, worn soft at the corners.
A solemn sixteen-year-old girl stared back at me, her dark eyes far too old for her face.
“Her name is Grace,” David said quietly. “I need you to adopt her before I die.”
My whole body went cold.
“David, what are you saying? Who is this girl?”
“Please. Just trust me.”
“I need you to adopt her before I die.”
“Trust you? You’re handing me a stranger’s photograph and asking me to bring her into our family, and you won’t even tell me why?”
“I’ll explain everything, I swear. But first, bring her home. She has no one else.”
I searched his face for the man I had married.
I found only a dying stranger with pleading eyes.
“Is she yours, David? Is that what this is? A daughter you had before me?”
“You won’t even tell me why?”
He closed his eyes.
A single tear slid down his hollow cheek.
“Please, my love. Don’t make me answer that now. Just bring her home.”
I know how it sounds.
But I had loved this man for fifteen years, and he was slipping away from me one breath at a time.
