I crossed the yard and knelt beside her.
She felt terrifyingly light when I lifted her, and she smelled faintly of bleach, medicine, and damp clothing.
“I’m back, honey.”
She kept repeating my name.
Selina immediately began insisting that things weren’t what they looked like.
She accused Phedra of becoming impossible after getting sick—demanding money, breaking things, even stealing jewelry.
My eyes went straight to the hummingbird pendant around my mother’s neck.
“Like that one?”
Selina covered it with one hand.
Phedra told me she had tried to sell the necklace to pay for a doctor’s appointment, and Selina had taken it from her.
Then I asked the question none of them wanted to answer.
“What illness does she have?”
Phedra touched her chest.
“Cancer.”
Eleven months.
For eleven months, I had been sending money home while my wife fought cancer.
Selina argued that treatment cost too much and there were no guarantees.
