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No.

The answer offered no excuse, no false comfort, no attempt to make death sound noble. There had been no beauty in losing him. No greater purpose could transform his absence into something bearable. Salvatore was dead, and every future we had imagined had died with him.

Love had not saved us.

It had only made losing him hurt enough to kill me.

“I can’t promise to keep doing this forever.”

Then don’t.

My fingers tightened around the bottle. “What?”

Don’t promise me forever. Forever is too much to ask of someone standing where you are.

His voice softened until it felt like his mouth against my temple, his arms around my waist, his heartbeat beneath my palm. I remembered the way he’d held me through nightmares without demanding that I explain them. I remembered the way he’d understood that some battles were not won by love alone. Sometimes love could only stay beside me while I fought.

Give me tonight.

“I don’t know if I can.”

You’ve already given me ten minutes.

A broken sound escaped me, caught somewhere between a sob and the memory of laughter. It hurt so badly that I pressed my fist against my mouth, trying to hold myself together while pieces of me kept falling away.

Put down the bottle, Madigan.

My hand refused to move.

You don’t have to be strong. You don’t have to get dressed, answer the phone, make plans, or tell anyone you’re going to be all right. You don’t have to be anything except alive.

“I’m so tired.”

I know.

“I want you.”

I know, baby.

“I don’t want a life that doesn’t have you in it.”

Then don’t think about that life.

The pills rattled as my hand shook.

Think about Henry breathing in his bed. Think about the way his fingers curl when he sleeps. Think about the little line that appears between his eyebrows when he is trying to understand something. Think about the way he carries pieces of both of us without knowing how much love it took to bring him into this world.

Henry’s face rose inside me.

His dark hair.

Salvatore’s smile.

The tiny hand that had once wrapped around my finger with absolute trust, as though I possessed the power to keep every terrible thing away from him.

A mother should have been able to promise her child that she would stay.

All I had was enough strength not to leave that morning.