expected it would be in this stage of her illness. She’s in a deep coma.”
I close my eyes, and my heart plummets to my stomach. I can hear Nancy crying softly beside me.
Douglas clears his throat before he asks, “What are the chances she could wake up?”
“I’m afraid to say there really is no chance. The EEG scans show minimal brain activity. We’ll do the test again in a few days and monitor her progress.” Sympathy and compassion fill her eyes when they move to me. “I’ve done extensive research on GSS since I took on Molly’s case, and I’ve consulted with doctors who have seen it before. There are no known cases of the patient waking up once they reach this stage.”
“How—” I stop and clear my throat. “How long do we have left with her?”
“I can’t give a definite answer. Some patients have lasted only a couple of weeks, while others a few months. I can only advise you to spend as much time with her to say your final words while you can.”
How in the hell do you say goodbye to the love of your life? How do you tell her everything you want to say—things that you’re supposed to have years and years of time to say—in a matter of only weeks? I’ve told Molly I love her several times a day since the first day we confessed our feelings, but I still haven’t told her enough. There should be thousands of more I love yous.
“When can we see her?” I croak.
“She’s being taken into a room now. As soon as she’s settled, a nurse will come get you. Given the situation, I’m not limiting the number of visitors. Just please keep it reasonable.”
With another sympathetic look, Dr. Vegas walks off, leaving us behind with our hearts bleeding out on the floor. When Molly started seeing the elderly neurologist, I immediately liked her. She came highly recommended in her field and Molly felt comfortable with her.
Right now, I hate her. I hate her so much I feel the heat of that hate in my bones. It’s not her fault—she’s done everything she could for Molly—but she’s the one who told me my wife is basically in a vegetative state and will be that way until she dies.
I close my eyes and pull in several unsteady breaths, trying my best to compose myself before I face the kids again. A small body approaches, and a moment later, I smell Mom’s floral scent fill my senses as she wraps her arms around my waist. I cling to her, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She cries quietly against my chest as we both grieve over Molly. Nancy and Lindsay approach and they both wrap their arms around Mom and me.
I’m not strong enough for this. I’ve had almost a year to prepare.
Molly may not be technically gone yet, but it feels like she already is.
Chapter Thirty-One
LINCOLN
My chest feels hollow, like my heart no longer sits behind my sternum, when I push open the door to the room. The smell that greets me is the same as in the hallway: sterile, antiseptic, and sickness. The room is bright, the walls bare, and my shoes squeak on the linoleum floor as I walk across the room, mixing with the beeping noise of the machines next to the bed.
I lock eyes on Molly. There are no words to describe the type of pain I feel looking down at her hooked up to so many machines. Her mouth is covered with an oxygen mask. Her long red hair is pulled to the side in a ponytail, I’m sure to keep it out of the way. One hand has an IV.
Despite all of this, she’s still beautiful. She’s still my Molly, my girl. The owner of my heart.
Grabbing the chair a few feet away, I carry it to her bedside and take a seat. Taking care of the IV in the top of her hand, I lace our fingers together and let them rest on her stomach. I prop my elbows on the bed and simply look at her.
“Hey, baby.” My voice comes out a broken whisper. “I’m here. I’m right here. Gray, Gemma, your mom and dad, Jenna, and Lindsay are too. They wanted to come in a see you, but I wanted a few minutes alone first.”
Tears slide down my cheeks, knowing the chances of her hearing me are slim. It doesn’t matter. If there’s the slightest chance she can, I