Still My Son
The next day came too fast. Prisca did not sleep. She only closed her eyes from time to time, but her mind never rested. She sat beside Daniel’s bed all night, watching his chest rise and fall. Every time he moved, she leaned forward. Every time he sighed, her heart jumped. The hospital room felt small and cold. The clock on the wall ticked loudly, as if it wanted to remind her that morning was coming. Morning meant the transfusion. Morning meant facing Gabriel. Her husband’s last words echoed in her head. We will talk when we get home. Not now. Not here. At home. That scared her more than shouting would have. Daniel stirred and turned in his sleep. His tiny hand searched for her. Prisca quickly held it. “I’m here,” she whispered. But she wasn’t sure how long she would still be “h
- Writer
