I couldn't feel my chest again.
I actually wanted to tell those I really loved, but I wanted to wait until after Christmas. I didn't want to spoil it.
I could not even move properly. Without Marcus's help, I would be like wood. He bathed me. He fed me. He helped cover a lot for me. I didn't even know what to do.
I thought if I took my drugs and did as the doctor suggested, life would remain. But just now, I knew I was really going.
It was stupid, but I wasn't really so scared of death anymore. I just wanted my last days with those I cared deeply about.
Camilla. Amelia. Patricia—and the child she carries, my child. My whole company. Was that even possible? I was so far from everyone.
"Marcus, help me get to my room."
"Yes, sir." He put his hand across my shoulder, helping me up, walking me to the stressful stairs, to my room.
He opened the door softly.
My room was a mess. Filled with childish items. The painting of Camilla on the swing. Her bear. Who did this?
