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“We’re here, Liam. Gen is here. Do you feel her soft fur?” Abby ran his hand down Gen’s back, then settled it around the dog. Ethan, still cuddled close beside his brother, let go of Gen’s ear and laid his hand atop her head, rising and falling with Liam’s breaths.
Spent by even so little effort, Liam’s head fell to the side, eyes fluttering closed again, the deep smudges of purple beneath them standing in stark contrast to his skin, too pale, almost gray, the edges of his lips already turning blue.
Abby turned to the boys’ mother. “Do you want me to call a nurse and get some oxygen?”
She shook her head. “No. The doctor says it will only prolong things. He had a cannula earlier today, but it kept falling out, and he’s resting more...” She paused, her breath hitching. “More comfortably, now.”
By the window, Liam’s dad closed his eyes, wincing.
They were a brave family. Liam’s mother more than any of them. Since Liam’s diagnosis, she had fought for him. For treatment, for time, for her twins to be together. She had fought herself. Hopelessness, guilt, the price one brother paid for another. She had fought for her marriage, for a modicum of normalcy in the midst of tragedy.
And she’d still be fighting tomorrow. Fighting for Ethan, who would be alone for the first time in his short life. Fighting survivor’s guilt. Fighting the questions that were sure to come.
A flash of shame bit Abby. Ethan and Liam’s mom didn’t have the leisure to fall apart tomorrow, or any of the days after. She’d get up in the morning and keep on going. Abby hadn’t had that strength. Couldn’t imagine the burden.
Didn’t wish it on anyone.
She and Gen sat a silent vigil beside Liam’s family, their presence enough. On the low bench, his father took his mother’s hand. Her knuckles turned white.
The minutes ticked past, the machines by Liam’s bed beeping obscenely in the quiet room. After a while, a nurse came in to check his monitors. She gave Abby a quick nod and, as she left, again, she ran a hand down Gen’s spine.
Abby made a mental note to stop by the nurse’s station.
The sky outside darkened, color fading in pinks and oranges, then to purple twilight, then bleeding into night.
Ethan, close beside his twin, stroked Gen’s head, then let his hand rest again. Liam’s fingers twitched where they lay on the dog’s shoulders.
They waited.
“Mom?” Liam’s weak voice cracked. “Ethan?”
His mother rose and crossed to his side, taking his hand where it flailed against Gen’s midnight fur. “Shhh, I’m here, Liam. We’re both right here.”
She leaned over him, brushed the hair from his forehead, then pressed her lips to the skin slicked damp and glistening under the harsh lights.
He thrashed, shaking his head from side to side and moaning.
Ethan, beside him, held him tighter, eyes wide.
“Here, Ethan, come here,” Abby held her arms out for the boy. “Let your mom and dad have a moment with Liam, ‘kay?”
The boy slipped from the bed and Gen raised her head, eyes following him, as he folded himself into Abby’s arms.
Once Ethan settled securely into Abby’s embrace, she rested it back down, nuzzling beneath Liam’s chin.
His mother held his hand in one of hers, the other tucking stray hairs behind his ear as she spoke in a low voice.
His dad came around the bed and Abby moved to the side, Ethan hitched against her hip, though he was far too big to be carried like that. His arms tightened around her neck, his small body trembling against hers.
“I’m here,” his mom said, voice low and soothing. The voice of a woman who had come through surgery after surgery, procedures prolonging Liam’s life week after week, month after month, buying her son as much time as she could. “You’re going to be okay. I’m not going anywhere. Daddy is here, too. Gen and Abby are here. Ethan is here...”
Liam thrashed again, then stilled.
Ethan, breath hitching, pressed his face into Abby’s neck, hiding, and she held him close.
Glancing over her shoulder at the pair, their mother’s voice broke. “Abby... Ethan. Can you...?”
Abby nodded and rose, the boy still tucked into her embrace. “Gen, let’s go.”