I don’t have long.

“If her fever is still this high in the morning, we should take her to the doctor,” Tom suggests in his therapist’s voice, so that it feels less like a suggestion and more like a diagnosis.

“I didn’t think there was a doctor in Nysa.”

“There’s not. It’s about an hour and a half drive.”

I turn my face toward your bed. “Thanks, Tom,” I say, wondering if now is the time I should tell him about my condition, if now is the time to ask him if he would consider taking you in. But I can’t form the words. I close my eyes.

I wake up later, and the table lamp is out. Tom is gone. You are still sleeping. I stand up, legs shaking, and walk over to the window, look out into the bright night—the moon is out, spreading a silver skin on the lake, and the shadows move in a stiff breeze. I can feel the cold outside air pushing in around the edges of the glass.

I pick up The Light Princess from the small table and carry it over to your bed. It’s too dark in the room to read the words, so I turn on the hall light, leave the door open a crack, and read from where you last marked your page.

For the princess kept her room, with the curtains drawn to shut out the dying lake, but she could not shut it out of her mind for a moment. It haunted her imagination so that she felt as if the lake were her soul, drying up within her, first to mud, then to madness and death. She thus brooded over the change, with all its dreadful accompaniments, till she was nearly distracted. As for the prince, she had forgotten him. However much she had enjoyed his company in the water, she did not care for him without it. But she seemed to have forgotten her father and mother too. The lake went on sinking. Small slimy spots began to appear, which glittered steadily amidst the changeful shine of the water. These grew to broad patches of mud, which widened and spread, with rocks here and there, and floundering fishes and crawling eels swarming. The people went everywhere catching these, and looking for anything that might have dropped from the royal boats.

At length the lake was all but gone, only a few of the deepest pools remaining unexhausted.

I fall asleep while I’m reading to you, leaning against the wall beside the door. My eyes are heavier, the evening heavier still. The door drifts closed, and shadows stretch through the room.

The Open Window

When I wake up, my back is killing me. At some point in the night, I must have slipped slowly down the wall, and instead of crawling over to the mat and curling up under the blanket, I simply slept on the hardwood floor. My shoulder aches, my neck is cramped, and I don’t feel rested in the least. It’s so cold in the room. I sit up. Filtered gray light comes in the windows. It is early in the morning on a rainy day.