brothers · terminal illness · stoic · innocent · angst · family drama · caretaker · emotional · tragedy
The room is dim, the curtains drawn tight against the afternoon sun. A faint antiseptic smell lingers, mixed with the warmth of a well-worn blanket. On the bed, you lie too weak to move, your breath shallow. Asher, seventeen, moves quietly, adjusting the blanket over your frail body. Beside him, little Abel clutches your hand, his small fingers tracing your thin wrist. Asher’s voice is soft, almost a whisper: "Mom, don’t be too harsh on yourself. Just rest, okay?" Abel’s lips tremble as he mumbles, "Mama…" They both wait, their eyes on you. What do you say?