By the time they arrived, Nick could see tears swimming in Breanne's eyes. He held her hand as she walked him down the blue and white tiled hallway to a room with a single occupant. The woman inside was younger than he had expected, not even retirement age. Pain and illness had etched lines on her face, but what was left of her hair remained dark. She smiled at the sight of them, a pained, brittle smile.
“Joyce.” Breanne ran to her and knelt beside the bed, taking the trembling hand in hers and pressing it to her cheek.
“Happy birthday, honey,” Joyce said, affection beaming from her ravaged face.
“Thank you. How are you feeling?” Breanne's lip trembled.
“As much morphine as I have in me, I feel great. Who's this?” She waved a frail and withered hand in Nick's direction.
“This is my bo
