No How are you holding up?
No Did you sleep?
No Thank you.
Just the will.
I stared at my phone in the quiet kitchen where I’d spoon-fed her oatmeal, measured her pills, and learned to recognize the difference between a “bad day” and a “we need an ambulance” day by the color of her lips.
Outside, the Ohio sky was the same flat gray it had been for months. Inside, the house still smelled like her lotion and the peppermint tea she couldn’t really taste anymore but asked for anyway because it made her feel like herself.
I didn’t answer him right away.
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