The Worst News
Our happiness didn’t last nearly long enough.
In November, the doctors gave us devastating news.
Russell had only six weeks left to live.
The hospital became our second home.
Every day felt precious.
Every conversation felt important.
Even then, Marlene continued trying to keep me at a distance.
One afternoon, she blocked the entrance to his room.
“He’s resting,” she said.
I sat outside for hours before finally getting a chance to see him.
When I entered, Russell looked weak, but his eyes immediately softened when he saw me.
He squeezed my hand.
“Don’t fight them,” he whispered.
I blinked.
“What do you mean?”
“Just trust me.”
Tears filled my eyes.
“I don’t care about the house, Russell.”
A faint smile appeared on his face.
“I know.”
He squeezed my hand again.
“That’s why.”
I wanted to ask him what he meant.
But I never got the chance.
