He glanced at me.
“She didn’t say that.”
“But could it be?”
“Eleanor, please. Let’s not frighten ourselves over something we don’t understand yet.”
I looked out of the window.
He was right that we did not know what the abnormality meant.
But I wanted to return to the clinic as soon as possible.
Samuel promised we would.
Three days later, he died.
He collapsed in our kitchen while making coffee. The paramedics arrived quickly, but the heart attack was severe, and they could not save him.
I remember standing in the hospital corridor, still wearing the cardigan I had put on that morning.
Michael held me while I cried.
Ruth arranged the funeral.
David spoke to the relatives.
And when the house finally emptied after the funeral, I found myself sitting at the kitchen table, staring at Samuel’s empty chair.
I could not bear the thought of returning to the clinic alone.
