Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 239(@200wpm)___ 191(@250wpm)___ 159(@300wpm)
There were so many things that gentle touch said.
I love you, too.
It’s okay ... you’re okay.
I’ll be okay.
Please don’t cry for me.
With clenched teeth and pain echoing like a thousand drums to his soul, Anton shook. He cried. His heart broke. This was not the place he should be less than two weeks after the birth of his first child. He should not have to say goodbye to the one man left in his life who would move heaven and hell for him—who loved him enough to do it if needed.
Life was sometimes more unfair than Anton could handle.
A small part of him wanted to run and hide from reality. A bigger piece desperately wanted to crawl into the small bed with his father and hold Daniil like his father had done for him when he was a child. Hiding away the world and the hurt of it all, just for a short time.
You’re too soft on that boy, Anton remembered people telling his father. He’ll never learn to make it on his own if you don’t let him go.
Daniil never did.
Anton couldn’t bear to meet his father’s gaze and watch the light draw out. There were countless times in his life when he’d watched men die—he would not do it for Daniil. To protect his shattering emotions, he just couldn’t. Instead, he focused on the feel of the hand still tucked between his cupping his cheek and the blanket Sasha had brought for Daniil to sleep with, the one Anton knew came from his parents’ bed at home.
Sasha, on the other hand, talked to her husband. Over and over, she told him how much she adored and loved him. That she was so proud of him and how good of a husband and father he had been to her and Anton. There were private things she said, too. Things Anton was sure his parents had never meant for him to know, or surely, they wouldn’t have wanted him to. Things like Sasha’s apologies for the misdeeds and hurt in their marriage. Regrets from her for years of refusing to give him more children when she knew he desperately wanted another. Memories tinged with a private passion that had a quake rising in Sasha’s voice.
“I love you isn’t enough,” she told her husband. “But it’ll have to do, Daniil. It’s the best I have left.”
The shuddering exhale of breath that left Daniil’s lungs filled the room. Anton had been studiously managing to ignore how shallow and harsh his father’s breathing was. With every inhale, Daniil struggled for air a little more. It was as if his whole body pained just to breathe in that small amount of oxygen.
“You’ve ... given me,” Daniil fought to say, the sound of his voice weak and tired.
“Don’t,” Sasha whispered. “Don’t talk.”
“Given me the ... best of you ... Sasha. Always.”
Anton wasn’t sure how much time passed before Daniil finally slept. Seconds and minutes seemed to bleed together in the quiet, dim room. When he did close his eyes to sleep, Anton knew, somehow ... Daniil wouldn’t wake up again.
Sasha held one of her husband’s hands while she carefully unclenched the hand of her son fisting the blanket. With his fingers interwoven with his mother’s, they laid their connection on top of Daniil’s heart, feeling the soft rise and fall of his chest.
Daniil’s chest fell with his last breath at six-thirty-two AM. His heart stopped shorty after. There was no movement as the nurse stepped into the room to turn off the sounds of the monitors reflecting life was lost with their gentle noises.
Anton felt faint—a shadow in a chair.
He watched in silence as his mother broke under the weight of her grief. Time moved in slow motion around him. When a half an hour passed, Sasha told the nurse she was ready to prepare Daniil for removal to the funeral home.
“I-I have to call—”
“No, don’t. I’ll do it,” Anton said, knowing what his mother was going to say before she did.
Jewish tradition required the body to be guarded from death until burial. Anton knew the people who would be taking care of the funeral arrangements specialized in Jewish customs, so once Daniil was in his casket and the lid closed, Anton’s job would be over.
“I’ll do it,” Anton repeated, refusing to take his eyes off his father. “I want to, Ma.”
“All right, then.”
Time moved again, but not as slowly as the first time. Sasha left after kissing her shaking son to make calls and inform those who needed to know first. The phone in Anton’s pocket vibrated nonstop with calls and texts, but he refused to take his eyes off his father as the nurses moved into the room to do their duties.
Machines were turned off before being unplugged. Tubes were disconnected from machines, placed in bags for disposal or sterilization. The monitor sensors attached to Daniil under his pajama shirt were removed.