She set down the bag and came over, glancing back at the diner.
“Mom, you shouldn’t be walking around alone at this hour.”
Under the dim security light, I saw everything.
Fresh bruises on her arm. Purple fingerprints where that man had grabbed her. A small cut on her finger from a knife slipping while slicing lemons. Probably red-rimmed eyes.
She hadn’t slept in 48 hours straight.
She was trembling — not from cold, from exhaustion.
I pulled her into my arms right there among the dumpsters at 3:52 in the morning.
“Mom, I’m okay. Really. Only three more weeks. I’ve already saved $2,100. By mid July, I’ll have 4,000. Then we figure out the rest.”
She pulled back, eyes bright with plans.
“I can pick up dishwashing shifts at the ordinary — that restaurant downtown. They pay 20 an hour.” Or she swallowed. “I can sell my car. It’s worth 8,000. That’s 12,000 total.”
I put my hand over her mouth.
“No.”
“But, Mom—”
“No more.”
Tears filled her eyes.
“But you’ll… you’ll pass away.”
I cupped her face in my hands.
“I would rather lose myself than watch you destroy yourself for me.”
“Mom…”
“Please, Anna. No more.”
She broke down. Right there by the dumpsters, she sobbed into my shoulder while I held her.
After a moment, I walked her back inside, found Jerry in the kitchen.
“She’s sick. I’m taking her home.”
He took one look at her face and nodded.
“Go. I’ll handle it.”
We walked the eight blocks back to her apartment. She leaned on me the whole way.
At 4:00 a.m., I tucked her into bed.
Her bed — the one she’d given up for me.
“Sleep, sweetheart. Everything’s going to be okay. Promise.”
“I promise.”
Within minutes, she was asleep — the kind of sleep that looks like passing out. Deep. Desperate.
I sat on the floor beside the bed and watched her breathe.
Then I pulled out my phone.
4:17 a.m.
I texted Charles four words.
It’s time. End this.
The next morning, I woke Anna at 2 p.m. She’d slept nearly ten hours — the first real sleep she’d had in two weeks. When she opened her eyes, I was sitting beside the bed with tea.
“Mom… what?”