I sit in a small, gray room, waiting for my family to come say goodbye. The walls are bare except for a single clock that ticks too loudly. There’s a wooden table bolted to the floor and two stiff chairs across from it. No windows. No air. Wow. This is going to be the last time I ever see my family. Ever. The word echoes in my head like it doesn’t belong to me. I press the heels of my hands into my eyes, hard enough to see stars. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. Don’t cry. I repeat it over and over in my head like it’s something I can command. If I start crying, I won’t stop. My chest feels tight, like someone tied a rope around my ribs and keeps pulling. Every breath is shallow and shaky. The green fabric of my dress pools around my knees when I look down. This is the dress I’ll be remembered in. I thought it would be a good-luck charm. The door outside the room creaks open. Footsteps. I straighten immediately, wiping under my eyes before any tears can fall. Be strong. For them. The door flies open. Ivy runs in and crashes into me, nearly knocking me backward. Her arms wrap around my waist so tightly it almost hurts. Tears stream down her face. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no,” she repeats over and over, her voice breaking apart between each word. “Ivy,” I whisper, holding her shoulders and gently pulling her back just enough so I can see her. “Hey. Look at me.” She shakes her head, like if she doesn’t look at me this won’t be real. “Ivy,” I say again, firmer this time. Her eyes finally meet mine — wide, terrified, shining with tears. “Everything is going to be okay,” I tell her, even though I have no idea if that’s true. “You hear me? You have to believe that.” My hands cup her face, thumbs brushing away tears that won’t stop falling. She lets out a broken sob and throws her arms around me again. I hold her tighter this time. It’s the kind of hug that feels like it’s trying to memorize the shape of someone. Like if I squeeze hard enough, I can take this moment with me. A long, tight hug that feels like it could last forever — and still wouldn’t be long enough. “I love you,” I whisper into her hair. “Forevermore.” She clings to me like I’m already slipping away. Slowly, I lift my eyes over her shoulder. Papa is standing by the door. He looks smaller somehow. I gently untangle myself from Ivy and walk toward Papa. Each step feels heavier than the last. He looks older up close. The lines around his eyes are deeper. His hands are shaking — not from drink this time. From me. I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my voice steady. “Papa…” I whisper, wrapping my arms around him. For a second, he doesn’t move. Then his arms close around me, tight — tighter than I can remember. “I’m so sorry,” he says into my hair, his voice cracking. “I should’ve— I should’ve done more. I should’ve—” “Stop,” I say softly, pulling back just enough to look at him. His eyes are red. “You have to promise me something.” He nods immediately. “Anything.” “You have to stop drinking.” The words hang between us. I hold his gaze, even though it hurts. “Please,” I say, my voice barely above a breath. “Ivy needs you.” Not me. Ivy. His jaw tightens. For a moment, I’m scared he won’t answer. Then he nods. “I will,” he says, and this time his voice is firm. “I promise. I’ll be the father she deserves.” I search his face, trying to decide if I believe him. I want to. He pulls me back into his chest, and I let myself lean there just for a second longer. Because this might be the last time I ever can. Ivy comes back to me like she hasn’t hugged me enough yet. I wrap my arms around her and close my eyes. “You have to live,” I breathe. “Promise me you’ll live a long life. Long enough for both of us.”
