“All good. Once she’s gone, I’m set.”
I hated myself for two seconds.
Then I locked my phone and acted like two seconds of hate was enough.
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Three mornings later, Evie dropped a spoon on the kitchen floor.
I turned from the stove. “Evie?”
I hated myself for two seconds.
She gripped the counter. Her mouth moved, but no words came out.
“Hey. Look at me.”
Her knees buckled.
I caught her before her head hit the floor.
At the hospital, a doctor with tired eyes found me.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “Her heart failed.”
“She was just eating jam,” I whispered.
“Hey. Look at me.”
***
The funeral was three days later. I wore the coat she bought me.
Claire, Evie’s niece, saw it first.
“Of course you wore that.”
“It’s cold.”
“No. You still know how to use her.”
