The tension that had kept me going for the last few weeks eased a little at the thought.

Soon this would all be over.

But I couldn’t get something Gabe had said to me out of my head. When we’d stopped at McDonald’s during the pillhead tour, Ben had gone to the bathroom, leaving Gabe and me on our own.

“What will you do after this?” I’d asked him. I waved a fry in the air so he knew “this” meant selling drugs, not just lunch.

He’d shrugged, chewing a massive bite of burger. “I’d like to get to know Josh. See what he’s like.”

“Gabe.” I shook my head. “You know I can’t allow that.”

He didn’t answer, just kept chewing.

“What about your girlfriend? Maybe you should settle down, get married, have kids. You’d be a great dad.”

“Maybe.” He seemed to think about it.

I stared at a grease-drenched fry, my stomach turning. “Will you and Ben keep going? Will you keep selling?”

He took another giant bite, shrugging. “Maybe. I don’t know. Never hurts to have a little extra cash. I kinda have the perfect way to wash the money.”

I snorted. “Cute. Illegally earning money to support an honest living.”

He stared at me, still chewing. “What about you? Say Josh lives, you get everything paid off, what’ll you do?”

“I’ll go back to the way it was: working at the clinic, helping people, being a loving wife, dependable mom, and respected doctor.”

Maybe my dreams were humbler, but at least they were honest, born from love, not greed.

It was his turn to snort. “You organized an opioid drug ring. People will be addicted because of you. They may die. You’re not innocent here.…”

The sound of Josh crying wrenched me from my thoughts. I raced upstairs, Charlie at my heels, heart thudding with fear as I burst into Josh’s bedroom. The room reeked of urine. Josh was sitting in bed, sobbing pitiful, jagged sobs that reached into my chest and wrenched at my heart.

“I’m sorry, Mommy!” he wept. “I peed myself!”

“Oh, my love.” Tears scorched my throat. I knelt and drew him into my arms. “You don’t have to be sorry. It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s the chemo.”

I held him as he cried, trying to reassure him, but he was mortified and inconsolable that he’d wet himself. It was a long time before he stopped crying, but once he’d calmed down I filled the bath with warm water and carefully lifted his fragile body in.

“My legs hurt so bad,” he sniffed.

“I know, baby. I’m so sorry.”

“And my fingers. Look.” Josh lifted his fingers. Water slid off the wrinkled skin. My throat constricted.

His fingernails were peeling off the nail beds.