AARYN
It was even worse than he'd thought.
His mother drank the water he brought her, but barely ate two bites of the sandwich. And even though she tried to make conversation when he sat with her, her eyes kept sliding closed. As soon as he stopped asking her questions, she settled back down on the pillow and slept.
His stomach went cold. It was his earliest days beginning again.
He hadn't realized how terrified he'd been in those days until now… now watching her relive it, and it was like he was seven again—desperate and terrified, and not knowing what to do except to keep feeding her and making her drink and… hoping.
She would do this all day—every day—barely waking except for the necessities. Then she would lay in the dark at night alone, crying, sometimes whispering as if she was having a conversation.
