holding on to this defeated change in heart
#8
"I am dying, Jefferson."

It was as if his heart plummeted into his stomach and sunk there; his shoulders sagged deeper, his brows furrowed. He had known all along she was -- he had simply never wanted to face it. There was always a possibility in his mind she would snap back to perfect health, back to her old self, but in recent months her health had degenerated so quickly he doubted that possibility. It burnt like fire in his chest, leaving scars on his heart, a rough skin over that tender place none other could penetrate. None other would, he knew, if he lost her.

He held her tighter, form heaving a sigh. He would not argue her declining health. "We are all dying," he said finally, tired of the silence, tired of the notion that her voice was not filling his ears and that it might someday never do so again. The man visibly twitched at such a thought, and his embrace only tightened further.

"I want to be with you every step of the way," he replied quietly. "You can pull through this... and even if you can't, I won't let you die alone. If not for your sake, Geneva... then for mine."


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