“I know, Althea. That’s why I’m grateful. If it weren’t for you…” he paused, gasping for breath, “…I would have been gone a long time ago.”
His words kept me close to him, even when my own strength was faltering.
And then came a day I will never forget.
The afternoon was quiet, as if the whole house held its breath with him. Bill lay there, pale, his breath short as a stream of water in a dry stream. His hands shook as he raised them to me.
He reached under the pillow and pulled out an old, torn pillow. The fabric was thin, almost transparent in places, and the seams were barely hanging together.
He handed it to me.
He pressed it into my hands with surprising strength.
“Because… Althea…” he whispered.
A few minutes later he was gone.
I stayed by the bed, holding the pillow to my chest as if it were his last presence. Only that evening, when the house had fallen silent, did I sit up and carefully unfold the pillow.
When I unfolded the pillow, I couldn’t hold back the tears.
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