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I close my eyes, steeling myself for the fight of my life. When I open them again, Marie is twisted around in her bed, sliding something out from behind her pillow.
The little bit of movement taxes her, and she’s breathless as she hands me a small stack of envelopes. “I finished these earlier today.”
I see my name written on the top envelope. “What is this?”
“It’s goodbye.” She forces them into my hands. Her fingertips are cold and blue. “Give them to Laila, will you?”
“You can give them to her yourself.”
She wraps the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She looks frail and tiny beneath it, like parts of her are literally withering away. “It hurts to talk. I’m tired.”
The way she looks at me, waiting for me to understand, I know she’s saying something else. My throat tightens and my chest pounds like a drum.
“Laila should be here.”
“No!” She coughs at the force of her own voice and takes a sip of water from the cup on her bedside table before she tries again.“No, no. I saw her earlier. And I said what I needed to say in that letter. The least I can do is spare her the ordeal of watching me die. I don’t want her to remember me that way.”
“She’ll never forgive me if I don’t call her.”
In another life, I wouldn’t care what Laila thought. I wouldn’t be here at all.
“Don’t drag her out of bed. Let her sleep.” Marie swats me away, her colorless lips pulled into a thin smile. “We’re just being dramatic about nothing. I’m sure I’ll still be here tomorrow and the day after. I’ve got a lot of life left in me.”
There’s a knot in my stomach I can’t quite untangle, but I nod. “Alright.”
She slips back against the pillows, her eyes already sinking closed. “I have a good feeling about you, Arsen. Prove me right. Be good to her. Love her.”
I kiss her forehead, but she doesn’t stir. I think she’s already asleep.
Then, unable to stay here any longer, I rise. But as I cross the doorway, I stop and turn back one last time.
Her hands are folded over her stomach and there’s a ghost of a smile on her lips. She looks peaceful.
I close the door behind me and leave.
When my phone rings as I park the car in the drive, I know who it is before I even answer.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Adamov,” the doctor says, “but your mother-in-law passed away in her sleep. There was nothing we could do.”
8
LAILA
Everything hurts. My bones, my chest, my eyes. My hip is on fire.
I squint towards the window, and there’s sunlight streaming through the cracks in the blinds. It’s midday, and I’m still wrapped in blankets. Why am I still?—?
It hits me like a physical blow. The memory of the knock on my door is so visceral that I turn towards it now. I can still hear the soft way he delivered news so horrifying I didn’t even care that he was in my room.
I didn’t care about anything.
I still don’t.
I catch movement by the side of my bed, and I whip towards it, igniting a jolt of pain that I feel in my toes. I try to sit up, but I’m exhausted and fall back against the pillows again.
“How long have you been sitting there?” I croak.
Apparently, whoever body-snatched me has also taken over my vocal cords. I sound like a frog person.
