I Rested My Head Beside Her Bed While Mom Tried Not To Cry...

The nurse at the front desk said we had to leave. She didn't say it mean, she just tapped Rose's chart and said overnight observation, come back in the morning, and Dad nodded too fast like he wanted someone else to decide for him.

I kept Rose's little overnight bag on my lap. Mom reached for it in the elevator and I pulled it closer. "I've got it," I said, and she let her hand drop. She didn't argue. That scared me more than if she'd grabbed it.

Outside it was already getting dark. The parking lot lights had buzzed on and the air smelled like wet asphalt and car exhaust. Dad unlocked our SUV and I climbed in the back behind him. The seat was cold through my jeans. I buckled in and set the bag right against my stomach so I could feel its shape.

Dad didn't talk while he backed out. Mom sat up front with her phone glowing on her face. She kept scrolling with her thumb, then stopping. Scrolling, then stopping.

"You okay back there, Lil?" Dad asked, looking at me in the rearview mirror.

I nodded. My ponytail bumped against the headrest. I didn't want to talk because if I talked I would ask if Rose was dead and I didn't want to hear the answer out loud.

We turned onto the highway. The headlights from other cars swept across the windshield. Mom's phone buzzed and she sat up straighter.

"It's hospice," she whispered, more to herself than to us. She opened the message and her mouth got tight.

My stomach dropped. Hospice was a word from health class. It meant people who came when someone wasn't going to get better.

"Dad?" I said. My voice sounded small in the back seat. "Why is hospice texting Mom?"

Dad glanced over at Mom. "Elena?"

Mom didn't look up. "They're just checking on the paperwork. The DNR papers Dr. Patel left last week. They wanted to know if we —"

"DNR?" I cut in. "What's that?"

No one answered for a second. The turn signal clicked loud.

"It just means what kind of help the doctors should give," Mom said finally. Her voice was too calm. "It's for grown-ups to worry about."

Dad's hands tightened on the wheel. "You called hospice already?" he said. "When?"

Mom locked her phone and set it face-down on her leg. "Yesterday. After she wouldn't eat dinner. I didn't want to scare Lily before we knew."

"You should have told me," Dad said. His voice got louder. "Jesus, Elena, yesterday?"

"I was handling it," Mom said.

"Handling it?" Dad repeated. The SUV swerved just a little over the white line and he jerked it back. "She's my — we should have called this morning. We should have called right when Lily found her."

I stared at the back of his head. My throat burned. "Dad found her too," I said quietly. "I was just leaning on the bed."

Mom turned halfway around. "Honey, no one is saying —"

Then Dad hit the brakes hard.

The tires squeaked and my seatbelt locked across my chest and Rose's bag slammed into the seat in front of me. A red light had turned fast at the intersection by the gas station, but we weren't even that close. He'd just stopped too hard. My head snapped forward and back.

"Mark!" Mom grabbed the dashboard.

Dad didn't move. Both hands were still on the wheel. The brake lights glowed red on the wet road in front of us. Behind us someone honked.

"Sorry," he muttered. He eased off and drove through the green. His breathing was loud through his nose.

Nobody talked the rest of the way home. Mom kept her phone face-down. Dad kept both hands at ten and two like he was taking a driving test. I held Rose's bag so tight the zipper left a mark on my palm.

When we pulled into our driveway, the porch light was on. It made the house look empty from the outside, like no one had been in it all day. Dad put it in park but didn't turn it off right away. The engine ticked.

Mom got out first and opened my door. "Come on inside, baby. We'll heat up soup."

I didn't move. "You knew yesterday she was bad," I said. "That's why you were standing by the window this morning and not touching her. You already knew."

Mom's hand froze on the door handle. Her gold necklaces caught the porch light. For a second she looked like she was going to lie, and then she just looked tired.