“What are you thinking about?”

Ben jumped in his seat. I guessed my question had brought him out of some deep thought.

“Oh. Uh, just the book we’re reading.” He grinned at me and leaned over to kiss my forehead before focusing on his textbook for the first time in twenty minutes, the happy, thoughtful expression fading from his face.

That was when I caught a glimpse of his notes, only they weren’t notes at all. On his lined paper was a detailed sketch of two men dueling with swords.

Just like a scene in the book we’d been reading, The Count of Monte Cristo.

Growing up with Marcus, I always thought drawing meant bending over a piece of paper and concentrating on every little detail.

That day, I discovered Ben almost appeared to be daydreaming when he sketched.

I want him to look like that more often. Maybe I could even make him a color-coded schedule like mine. And, like Pops did with me, I could demand Ben pick some time each week to devote to drawing.

He deserves to do something that makes him happy.

Question is, will he get the chance?

Please, let me leave here with Ben.

Panic boils up my throat, searing away the calm from making my list.

“Pops?”

“Hmm?” He glances up from his book again.

“Read to me. Please. I just … I need you to read.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Should I start at the beginning?”

“That’s okay. Wherever you are now is fine.”

My father’s deep, normally soothing voice fills the room. I try to pay attention, but the words don’t make sense to my ears. He doesn’t sound anything like Ben, and that somehow makes my anxiety worse.

A knock interrupts Pops a moment before Dr. Stevens enters. He’s not in the lab coat and business-casual attire of our first meeting. Instead, he has a full set of blue scrubs on and some funny-looking white Crocs-like shoes.

“Ben is out of surgery. He’s in recovery next door. Everything went well. You can see him now.”

The world rocks. And shifts. And settles.

Mrs. Gerhard gasps and sprints from the room, her tablet clattering to the floor. As always, Mr. Gerhard is just a step behind her. Marcus and Pops grin at me.

And I start crying.

The determination that gave steel to my spine isn’t needed anymore. I’m released from the worry and the fear. It all drains out of my eyes as I hiccup and sob. I’m convinced that the drugs are making my reaction over the top because, hard as I try, the flood has been released and can’t be contained.

Marcus slides up on the bed next to me, maneuvering through my wires and tubing so that he can gather me in his arms. And then he rocks me and hums nothing words in my ear, just the way he did when I was younger and woke up from my chaotic nightmares.

Only, now, I’m not terrified. I’m just overwhelmed, and I have no strength left to work through these emotions. So, I cry until his shirt is soaked.