TWENTY-NINE
Oliver hesitated before gathering a collection of stuffed animals from the bed. This was the morning that he had dreaded from the moment that he had left Cyllvia’s bedside after her last pulmonary surgery. He understood from sober discussions with the medical staff that no miracles were on the horizon. He collected the last of Cyllvia’s stuffed animals, a rainbow colored unicorn, and placed it in a bag. On his way to the doorway, he observed a syringe on the floor. As he stooped to pick it from the floor, the object seemed strangely foreign to him. His fingers recoiled at the touch. He left it lying next to the door.
Oliver stepped into the cold air. He scoured the area in front and on all sides before stepping out from the relative safety of the door that Charles Dil
