She opened her eyes. Josh was washing her face. She smiled at him, oh, God, her chest hurt so much, everything hurt, her head, her skin, her bones, but seeing him felt so good. So . . . safe.

She smiled and then the darkness pulled her deeper, and it was good, it was easier there, the enveloping blackness.

She wasn’t getting better. She was getting worse.

Death sat close by. Dad? Are you here? She fell asleep before she could wait for an answer.

Awake again. Josh. Jen. Mom. Ben and Sumi. Then sleep.

The next time she woke, Dr. Bennett was there on one side, Josh on the other, stroking her hand, a blue shirt this time. “Hi, honey,” he said, and she loved his soft, deep voice so much. “We need to . . . talk.” His face spasmed with grief.

Shit. Her heart thudded painfully. She tried to squeeze his hand, and he squeezed back. Don’t be scared. Don’t be scared. Don’t let him know you’re scared.

“Lauren? Lauren, hey.” Dr. Bennett took her hand, too, which was totally not encouraging. “We lightened your sedation so we could talk. Can you hear me?”

Lauren nodded. Dr. Bennett pushed the button on the bed and raised her to more of a sitting position. God. Her chest burned and hurt, jerking with the effort to breathe, fighting the respirator. She tried to let it breathe for her, since she obviously was doing a crap job. She looked at the monitor. O2 sat 70 percent, heart rate 115, blood pressure 185/121. Her head was killing her. She looked at her hands, and the fingernails looked faintly . . . blue.

Not good. Not good at all.

Her whole body was so heavy, as if she’d been pumped full of iron.

Dr. Bennett—Kwana, she’d asked to be called way back when—sat next to her on the bed.

“Lauren,” Dr. Bennett said, her eyes kind . . . and wet. She gripped Lauren’s other hand. “The news is not good, honey. Your arterial blood gas is morbidly low. The X-rays show your lungs are filled with fluid, and your sats are way down, even with the ventilator.” She waited a beat, making sure Lauren was hearing all this.

She was, unfortunately. Even though she’d known it was coming, the realization was a physical blow. She couldn’t look at Joshua.

“You’ve been on antibiotics, but we’re not getting anywhere in clearing the pneumonia. Your lung function is . . . quite low.”

She nodded. Squeezed Josh’s hand. Her chest was working hard, even with the ventilator in, and it hurt.

“Your organs are shutting down,” Dr. Bennett said, “and we can’t . . . we’re out of options.”

Lauren closed her eyes. Out of options.

This was it. She was dying. Her beautiful, happy life was ending. She’d known it would, but now that it was here . . . shit.

She opened her eyes and looked at Josh. His mouth trembled. He tried to smile, but his eyes filled. “I . . . I’m so sorry, honey,” he said, and his voice broke. He bent over and pressed his forehead to hers.

Not yet. Not yet. Oh, please, not yet. She didn’t want to do this to her husband.

Be brave, honey. Her father’s voice. Oh, thank God, he was here.

Josh. Oh, Josh. I’m so sorry.

Tears spilled out of her eyes, and he held the sides of her face, wiping her tears away even as he cried with her. Her heart swelled with sorrow and regret that she was leaving him. The love of her life. The love of her life. She lifted her hand to his hair, relishing the silkiness. Stroked his cheek before her heavy arm dropped back to her side.

I’m so sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.

“Are you in any pain?” Dr. Bennett asked.

Lauren nodded. Her chest ached, and a knifelike pain stabbed on every forced inflation. Flashes of light went off in her head like lightning strikes, searing and sharp. Her chest worked, and she could feel her breath crackling. Air hunger. Such an ugly, cruel thing.

“We’ll get you some morphine. But, Lauren, if we extubate you, the end will come pretty fast,” Dr. Bennett said, and Lauren had to give her credit, because though her eyes were shiny, she wasn’t crying outright. “You’ll have a few hours, maybe less. If we keep you on the ventilator, it’ll be more like a day, maybe three. The choice is yours.”

Well, shit. She’d give anything for another couple of days . . . but being on the ventilator also meant being unconscious. She could die that way, just slip away, pain-free.

Joshua deserved more.

“Your mom, Jen and Darius are in the waiting room,” Josh said. “Sarah’s on her way.”

She pointed to the tube and mimicked pulling it out. “You want us to extubate you?” Dr. Bennett asked, and Lauren nodded, looking into Joshua’s eyes.

I’m sorry.

After a long second, he nodded, too, and then put his hand up to his eyes.

She reached for him, her arm not quite making it, and he caught it, took her hand, kissed it, his lips staying a long time. She felt his tears drop on her skin. She squeezed back, but she was so weak, she wasn’t sure he felt it.

Though she tried not to, she fell asleep again, still holding Josh’s hand. Distantly, she was aware of more people in the room, adjusting her, moving things. The tube was pulled from her throat, and she gagged a little, getting another stab with the effort. She could hear herself gasping, her chest working hard—oh, shit, it hurt. She heard a moaning sound. Hers, she assumed.

Someone was putting something in her hand. “Just press this button when you need more pain control,” a female voice said. She pressed, and a warm wave enveloped her, making her float. Morphine. Ooh. That was nice. Her head pain went away, and her chest didn’t hurt as much, wasn’t jerking so much. Even her breathing was easier, thank God.

“Atta girl,” the nurse said, and Lauren opened her eyes and smiled.

Josh was standing right next to her, his face ruined.