One Last Litany
After my husband's first love, Sydney Edwards, used me as a walking blood bank, I died in the run-down rental apartment my billionaire husband, Casper Hawthorne, had tossed me into like it was a blessing for me.
Today was the third day since I had died.
My six-year-old son, Adam, finally realized something was wrong.
He had cut his finger while playing with his toys, yet I did not comfort him.
He tore open a packet of crackers and raised one to my mouth to feed me, but I did not stop him.
He lay in my arms, clutching my clothes and whispering for me. Still, I did not answer.
Lost and panicking, he found my phone and called his father, Casper. "Dad, why is Mom still sleeping?"
The man sent back a photo of himself having New Year's Eve dinner with Sydney and said in a cold voice, "She's just sleeping, she's not dead. Today is New Year's Eve. I'm busy. Tell that clueless mom of yours that when she's ready to admit she was wrong, she can come and look for me."
After the call ended, Adam stood there frozen for a long time.
He picked up the last biscuit in the rental apartment from the trash can, broke it in half, and held one piece to my mouth. "Mom, let's eat too."