“I’m sorry, Olivia. For all of it.”
“There’s reason to hope.”
I looked up, exhausted and honest. “We were both scared. But Andrew comes first.”
He nodded and left without another word.
I curled up in the chair beside my son, my hand on his arm. My son was still fighting, and so was I.
If — no, when Andrew wakes, he’ll know I chose him. Someone tried to teach him his fear was a nuisance. I won’t let that lesson stick.
My son was still fighting.