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As the car accelerated toward the ferry stop, Kelsey stared out at the passing landscape, feeling strangely untethered. They had won the custody battle today, secured Noah’s future, but now the victory felt hollow.

Chapter 26

The scent hit Kelsey first as they entered Truman’s cottage—antiseptic mingled with something else, something medicinal and final that she recognized from years of nursing.

Death.

The curtains were drawn against the afternoon light, creating a hushed, timeless atmosphere that existed outside the ordinary world.

Ruth met them in the hallway, her normally cheerful face etched with professional concern. “He’s been in and out,” she whispered, guiding them toward the bedroom. “More out than in, this afternoon.”

Mac pushed past Kelsey with silent urgency, his shoulders rigid with tension. She followed, her medical training warring with the personal grief already building behind her ribs. In the doorway, she paused, taking in the scene.

Truman lay centered in the bed that now dominated the main room, the one they’d moved to face the ocean view. Even from here, she could see the change in him—the deeper hollows beneath his cheekbones, the pronounced blue tinge around his lips despite the oxygen flowing through the nasal cannula. His breathing had the distinctive pattern she’d seen too many times before—shallow, with occasional deeper gasps.

A woman Kelsey didn’t recognize stood by the window, making notes on a tablet. She looked up as they entered and offered a gentle smile.

“You must be Mac and Kelsey,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m Lauren, the hospice social worker. I came over on the ferry when Ruth called.”

Mac shook her hand mechanically, but his gaze never left his grandfather. “How is he?”

Lauren exchanged a look with Ruth. “Comfortable. We’ve adjusted his medication to ensure he’s not in any pain.”

Mac glided to the bedside, and his hand hovered uncertainly before settling on Truman’s arm. The old man didn’t stir.

“Can we talk in the kitchen?” Ruth murmured, gesturing for Kelsey to follow. She touched Mac’s shoulder briefly before stepping away. Her nursing persona slipped into place like a familiar shield.

In the kitchen, the normalcy felt jarring—sunlight streaming through the windows, a half-empty teacup on the counter, yesterday’s newspaper folded beside it. Ruth leaned against the counter, fatigue evident in the slump of her shoulders.

“He had an episode this morning,” she said without preamble. “Chest pain. Bad enough that I thought…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “The extra nitro helped, but it took longer to work than usual.”

“Cardiac insufficiency,” Kelsey said quietly. “His heart’s giving out.”

Ruth nodded. “The oxygen levels have been dropping gradually all day. I’ve increased the flow rate twice.”

“Has he been responsive?”

“In and out. More confused when he is awake, though he asked for Mac several times.” Ruth passed her the medication chart. “I’ve had to increase the morphine substantially.”

Kelsey scanned the updated dosages and nodded her approval at the adjustments. Ruth had followed the orders Kelsey had laid out. Lauren, the social worker, joined them, her voice pitched low.

“I’ve gone over the DNR paperwork again. Everything’s in order. No heroic measures, no hospital transfers—exactly as Mr. Costigan requested. We have the number of the funeral home to call, and we are able to pronounce him at home.”

“Thank you, I’ll be here and I can take care of that.” Kelsey said, grateful for her calm efficiency. These practicalities were necessary, though they felt almost obscene against the significance of what was happening in the next room.

Mac appeared pale-faced in the doorway. “He’s stirring. I think he’s trying to wake up.”

Ruth and Lauren exchanged glances. “I should go,” Ruth said, gathering her things. “My shift technically ended an hour ago, and it seems like…”

“Like family should be with him now,” Lauren finished gently. “I’ll stay a bit longer, but I won’t intrude.”

Kelsey squeezed Ruth’s hand as she passed. “I’ll take over. Go home to your kids.”

“Call if you need anything,” she said. “Anything at all.”

After Ruth left, Kelsey returned to the medication chart, forcing herself to focus on the professional details. Proper dosing. Timing. Comfort measures. It was easier than facing the raw emotion in Mac’s eyes.

“Kelsey.” Mac’s voice was rough with strain. “Is this… is he…”