My eyes drift toward the living room, and as they adjust to the darkness, I notice the faint light coming through the window. My eyes catch the frame above the fireplace—the big family portrait.
Our last family portrait.
Taken the year before Dad died.
All of us together, smiling like we had decades left.
Mom and Dad are in the center of it, standing so close you couldn't slip a piece of paper between them—her arm looped through his, his hand covering hers like it always did. Sam's on Dad's right, leaning into his shoulder because she always liked being in his space. And I'm on the other side, pressed up against Mom, stuck in that plaid shirt she insisted on, grinning like an idiot because Dad kept whispering dumb jokes to make all three of us laugh.
All of us together. Whole.
We looked like a postcard.
Happy. Balanced. Complete.
None of us knowing we only had a few months left with him.
My throat tightens as I stare at Dad's face, his smile so damn full of life.
"I miss you, Dad." I whisper, barely getting it out. "I really wish you were here."
I clear my throat and look away from the picture, pushing down the ache the best I can.
Tomorrow's going to be hard enough.
I wake up early the next morning, shower, clean up, and shave the stupid little stubble on my jaw. When I step out of my room, I can already hear pots clinking and something sizzling downstairs. Mom's definitely up.
I head down the hall toward my little sister's room.
I checked on her last night, but she was already knocked out.
Didn't get the chance to talk.
I knock lightly on her door, then push it open.
She's awake — sitting at her vanity, blow-drying her hair. Still a little pale, but miles better than how she looked the last few days.
The moment she catches my reflection in the mirror, she switches the dryer off and beams at me. The bright, Sam-style beam.
"Hey, Zachy!"
"Hey, angel. Good morning."
I walk in, lean down, and kiss her forehead before sitting on the edge of her bed.
"How are you feeling?"
She starts brushing her hair, glancing at me through the mirror as she speaks. "Honestly? I feel like a human again," she says, dramatic as always. "I'm so sick of being sick. I swear if I had to lie in bed one more day doing absolutely nothing, I was gonna throw myself out the window."
I snort. "Yeah, you look better. Yesterday on FaceTime, you looked like you were running on two hours of sleep and a cough drop."
She gasps playfully. "Wow. Love the support."
I grin. "Just saying."
She sets the brush down for a second, talking with her hands like she always does when she's annoyed.
"And being on bed rest is theworst.You can't do anything. You can't go anywhere. You just lie there staring at the ceiling, judging your life choices."
