“I’m so sorry, Lincoln,” he says quietly. “There’s nothing else we can do. I’m afraid she’s gone.”
“Try again!” I demand and point my finger at my wife. “She opened her eyes. She looked at me. You can’t give up so easily. Why in the hell would she wake up only to die?”
His gaze softens in sympathy as he walks over to me. He places a hand on my shoulder, but I knock it off.
“This happens sometimes,” he says quietly. “Patients will wake right before they pass. It could have been involuntary reflexes, or they simply become aware right before.”
“It wasn’t fucking reflexes,” I growl. “She looked right at me.” I lower my voice and plead with him. “Please. She can’t be gone. Keep trying.”
“I truly am sorry, Lincoln. But there’s nothing else we can do. We tried for fifteen minutes. She’s gone.”
I don’t respond. What in the hell am I supposed to say to something like that? There is nothing I can say.
As much as I want to grab him by his coat, drag his ass over and make him continue, I know he’s right.
One of the nurses flips the heart monitor off, and the silence left behind after the long beeping noise stops is deafening.
“We’ll give you a few minutes,” the doctor says somberly before exiting the room.
Mariah, on her way out the door, stops by me and squeezes my bicep. “I’m so sorry.” She leaves, and with a sympathetic look my way, Joanna follows behind her.
I’m left alone with my wife’s dead body.
Dead.
Gone.
Stolen away from me.
My feet feel like dead weights as I slowly approach the bed. Tears fill my eyes so rapidly my vision blurs. I knuckle the tears away and stop at the side of Molly’s bed. I don’t know when, but they must have pulled the tube out of her throat and the tape off her cheeks. It’s been so long since I’ve seen her face fully without something obstructing it. She’s just as beautiful as she ever was, despite the weight she’s lost in her cheeks. Freckles still cover her cheeks and nose.
Reaching out with a shaky hand, I brush my thumb along her cheek, her skin soft and smooth.
“I love you, Molly,” I croak, a sob catching in my throat. “I hope and pray you’re up there in Heaven right now watching down on me, waiting on the day we’ll be together again.” I lick away the tears on my lips. “Every second I’m left on this earth, I’ll be waiting for the day I get to see your beautiful face again.”
Leaning over, I press a kiss against her lips—something I also haven’t been able to do in over a month—then rest my forehead against hers. Tears fall from my eyes and land on her cheeks.
“Wait for me, baby. I won’t be long.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
LINCOLN
Molly’s funeral is held four days later. Other than finding Molly unresponsive in our bed a couple of months ago, and the day she died, those four days have been the hardest of my life. The ache in my chest is a constant, never-ending pain. Not only did Molly die, but she took a big part of me with her. A part I’ll never get back.
Besides the first day I sat them down and told them the news of their mother, the kids are coping better than I thought they would. I still see the devastation in their eyes, but I think with Molly being in a coma for as long as she was, they almost felt like they lost her that first week.
Nancy, Douglas, and the others were expectedly heartbroken, but even they are coping better than I am.
I still can’t believe she’s gone. Some days I wake up forgetting, and relive the day her heart stopped in the hospital again. It’s my worst waking nightmare.
I stand in front of the mirror in our bedroom—the same mirror Molly would stand in front of when she was getting ready for the day—and straighten my black tie. My pants and jacket are black as well, perfectly matching my mood. Using my fingers as a comb, just as Molly always liked, I deem myself ready.
Closing my eyes, I take in one more deep breath of Molly’s scent that still lingers in the air and exit the room.
Gray and Gemma are in the living room, already dressed in dark clothes. Both are sitting on the couch, their expressions mournful.
I walk over and crouch down in front of them. “You guys okay?”
Gemma nods solemnly, on the verge of tears, and Gray doesn’t say or do anything.
“Come here.” I grab them by their shoulders and pull them into my arms. They cling to me like a lifeline, as if I’m the only one keeping them sane. I do the same because they are the only thing keeping me balanced. If it weren’t for them, I’m not sure I would have survived the loss of Molly.
Gray and Gemma sit in the backseat as I drive us across town to the church holding Molly’s service. The trip is made in silence. Glancing in the rearview mirror, I spot them holding hands. They’ve always been close, but since Molly became sick, and even more so since she passed away, they’ve grown closer.
Nancy and Douglas are already at the church, waiting on the steps when we arrive. Nancy pulls me into a tight hug.
Pulling back, she cups my cheeks. Her own face is drawn tight with grief, but she looks at me like she’s more concerned about my well-being. “I know it’s a stupid question under the circumstances, but how are you holding up?”
“Surviving.”
She nods, her expression filled with understanding. Nancy has been a Godsend over the last few days, helping me plan Molly’s funeral. Guilt consumes me because she just lost her daughter and is grieving herself, but she’s been the strongest one out of all of us.
Releasing me, she greets the kids by pulling them into her arms.
I clasp hands with Douglas next.
“You or the kids need anything, you call us. Got it?”
I jerk my chin up. “Same goes for you and Nancy.”
Another car pulls into the parking lot, and we watch as Lindsay, Joe, and Aubree climb out of the car. Expressions bleak, and with Aubree in Joe’s arms, they ascend the steps. More hugs and quiet words are passed around.
After my parents, Jenna, Bryant, and Violet arrive, we all make our way inside. My eyes immediately move to the open dark-blue casket at the front of the church. I suck in an agonizing breath at the razor-sharp pain that punctures my chest.
More people arrive, and the room slowly fills up. Molly was a spectacular woman who could make friends with anyone. She’ll be mourned by a lot of people.
They approach me and offer their condolences. I wish they would stop. I’m tired of hearing all of the “I’m sorry for your loss” and the “Let me know if there’s anything I can do’s.”
Needing a moment away from the constant handshakes and hugs, I ask the kids, “Do you want to go see Momma one more time?”
I debated on whether to let them see Molly lying in her casket. No matter how much a mortician tries, they can never represent loved ones the way they should be. Too much makeup, hair not done right, complexion wrong. Molly won’t truly look like their mother.
But I didn’t want to take that decision away from them, because I don’t want them to resent me for it one day. Instead, I decided to leave it up to them and be with them if they choose to see her.