Remnants of the soup she had fed him held on to his whiskers like morning dew. She carefully wiped his face with a moist toilette, and cleared the serving tray from his bedside.

“Is there anything else I can do for you before I leave?”

“Would you come back again tomorrow?”

“I’m covering for the regular nurse.”

“I hope you do, you have a soothing voice. Can I hold your hand, if you don’t mind?”

She extended them reluctantly before him, and waited. His own, tentatively shook as they made the distance, without sight to guide them. Thoughts of pulling away swam in her head.

“They’re soft, I knew they’d be.”

“Sleep well.”

“You’re an angel.”

It was shocking to see his face again. Back then, the woman was always to blame. For years, she had done the same. Though late, peace had finally come.

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