She could not have been more than seventeen.
She labored for hours. She grew weaker as the night wore on. Sometime past midnight, when the world outside the hospital windows was silent and dark, she grabbed my wrist with startling strength.
“I can’t raise them alone,” she whispered.
Her eyes were huge in her pale face.
“And if something happens to me, promise me you’ll take care of them. Please.”
I told her not to talk like that. I told her she would be fine.
But she squeezed my hand harder.
“Promise.”
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