***
I went back to Gloria’s room that afternoon. She was propped up, reading a paperback, and she smiled the second she saw me.
“You returned sooner than I expected.”
“I have my answer.”
She set the book down.
“That’s the problem with you.”
“I want to do it,” I said.
Gloria’s eyes filled, but she blinked hard and refused to let a single tear fall.
“Then yes?” she whispered.
“Yes.”
She squeezed my hand so tightly I could feel every one of her thin, papery fingers. Beside the bed, that old bag sat where it always had, right beneath her palm.
“I want to do it.”
***
A week later, Gloria and I were married in a small ceremony in her hospital room. A chaplain officiated. Sarah stood as a witness, quietly, without protesting. Gloria wore a soft pink cardigan and the same stubborn smile she had the day I met her.
