closed.
I touched her chest and counted her breaths.
“Mommy’s here,” I whispered.
It sounded like a promise.
I didn’t yet know its cost.
I went to the entry closet because Cole had claimed he’d picked up the additional fever reducer recommended by our pediatrician.
He said it was in his coat.
His charcoal overcoat hung behind three others.
One pocket was empty.
In the other, my fingers encountered velvet.
I withdrew a small Tiffany box.
For one pathetic moment, hope stirred.
Maybe he’d remembered Christmas.
Maybe the gift was
