Page 146 of I’m Already Gone

I make my way to our bedroom, closing the door with my foot. Leaning against it, the last traces of my composure shatter. I stagger toward the bed, carefully laying Lily down before collapsing onto the floor.

I can barely breathe, my vision blurring as I look down at my wife.

“Jake, Maddy, and Ollie need you, Ethan.” Lily’s voice, clear and unwavering, floats into my head, a whisper from beyond. “Be strong for them.”

“I ca-can’t,” I stammer, holding onto Lily’s hand.

“Yes, you can. It’s time to let me go, baby.”

“I can’t. I don’t want to.”

“You have to. It’s okay, Ethan. I’m already gone. Everything will be okay. I promise you.”

I shake my head, a frantic, desperate gesture, as if I can argue with a ghost. All I want is for her to open those pretty eyes, to flash me that smile that made me weak, to hear her voice again.

It isn’t until a voice filters in from the hallway and the door opens that I realize I am no longer alone.

“Ethan.” I look up, my vision blurry through the tears, to see Sam.

She seems to be holding it together, a rock in the storm. Still, I can see the pain in her eyes, the way her chin trembles, a barely restrained tremor threatening to shatter her.

“You have to tell the kids before hospice and the staff from the funeral home get here.”

“No. Please,” I beg, my voice splintering as the world caves in around me. “I need more time with her.”

“I know how ha-hard it is right now,” she says, sucking in a ragged breath. “But your children need you more than ever now. They need you, Ethan.”

She’s right. It’s time to let my Lily go, live a future without her, and be there for my children. To somehow help them through her loss.

“Where are the children?” I ask.

“They’re all in their own rooms. They don’t know anything yet.”

The ‘yet’ hangs heavy in the air, like a ticking time bomb.

I reluctantly let go of Lily’s hand and press a kiss on her forehead. “I’ll be back, Sunshine.”

“I’ll stay with her,” Sam says, her eyes glued to her sister’s still form.

“Thank you,” I manage, my throat tight. “I’ll be back.”

Stepping out of the room, I shut the door. I close my eyes and take several deep breaths, trying to pull myself together, to gather the shattered pieces of my soul.

How the hell am I going to tell our children? How do I explain that their mother is gone? That she won’t be cheering at Jake’s swim meets, her voice the loudest in the stands? Or that Maddy will never again have her special baking time? And that Ollie won’t get the chance for his mother to walk him into kindergarten on his first day, holding his tiny hand, beaming with pride?

“Dad?”

I flinch, my eyes snapping open. Jake stands outside his door, headphones looped around his neck, his phone clutched in his hand. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

I clear my throat. “Can you grab Maddy and meet me in the living room?”

“Why?” His eyes narrow.

“Jake, please.”

“Where’s Mom?” he asks, his gaze flicking past my shoulder, drawn instinctively to our closed bedroom door.

I can break later, I tell myself. Right now, my children need me more than ever. “She’s sleeping. Jake, please. Do as I ask,” I repeat.