Leroy gripped her hand as if holding her could anchor her soul to her body. Lorraine's fingers were cold and trembling, but she managed to curl them around his, her smile faint and exhausted yet impossibly soft.
She looked at him the way she always did, like he was her safest place, her favorite sight, her only certainty in a world forever tilting beneath her feet.
"I love you…" she whispered, her voice thin but steady, as though she needed him to hear it before anything else. Before the next wave of pain stole her breath. Before fate stole her away.
Leroy leaned closer, so close that their foreheads touched, so close that her warm, uneven breaths brushed his lips. He didn't care about the midwives moving around them or the shadows flickering from the dying lanterns. He didn't care about the blood staining the sheets or the worried voices murmuring prayers under their breath. He didn't care about crowns or curses or the murmurs of everyone beyind the tent.
