More than an hour passed in complete silence except for the doctor coming in every fifteen or twenty minutes to check Kat’s pulse, each time telling them it was slowing down and the end was getting closer.

Henry began to feel more tired and more afraid he would drift off to sleep in the chair and Kat would slip away without him knowing. He finally followed Amala’s example and lay down on the bed next to Kat where he could relax more but also be more aware of any slight change in her condition. He put a hand over Kat’s belly where he could feel her breathing—however slight and shallow—moving through her. He whispered in Kat’s ear that he loved her, and he was aware of Amala crying quietly where she lay on the other side of Kat, her head resting on her sister’s shoulder.

As Henry focused keenly on Kat’s breathing, he felt calm and at peace and less afraid than he’d thought he would be when the end came. He was able to relax and close his eyes but still remain alert and completely aware of his wife. When he heard the sound of Kat’s breathing change, sounding noisier and perhaps strained, he lifted up on one elbow to look at her. She didn’t look different, but something was happening. The doctor appeared at his side, declaring that this was exactly what he’d expected; it was completely normal. He called it the death rattle and said it wouldn’t be long now.

Henry and Amala both remained at Kat’s sides, neither of them speaking but both acutely aware of Kat’s every breath. Time passed while nothing changed, and then Kat seemed to stop breathing, and the sound of the death rattle stopped completely. Henry held his breath, wondering if she could be gone as simply as that, and then she drew another noisy breath. For interminable minutes it went on like that, with her breathing becoming noisier, with the time between each breath growing longer. He knew the doctor was hovering in the room now but keeping a polite distance, as if he held a deep respect for the ritual of death.

Henry was leaning his elbow on the bed, his head in his hand, just watching Kat’s face, when her eyes came open, making him gasp after so many long hours of no indication of life at all except for her faint pulse and strained breathing. Amala lifted herself up at the sound of Henry gasping. Kat turned her head slightly toward Henry, and he hoped for some final words between them, but her eyes became focused more past him, so much so that he turned his head to see who might be standing behind him, but there was no one there. She blinked and muttered in a voice that was barely audible, “The light . . . the light . . . hurts my eyes.”