“It’s all right to cry,” he whispered, touching her face gently.

“I’m not going to,” she choked. A tear threatened to roll out of her eye.

“You want to,” he said, torturing her ripped soul.

“I don’t,” she said, taking weak, shaky breaths.

“You’re dying,” he told her, “just cry.”

“I’m going to die smiling,” she said, a tear so close from spluttering out of her eye that she had to use her minuscule amount of strength to keep it from coming.

“You’re going to die,” he whispered, his cheek on hers.

‘I’m not going to die…like this…” she mumbled, her strength leaking out of her.

“Hear your words,” he commanded, “you’re dying.”

She couldn’t force herself to listen to his almost-taunting voice. She attempted to block out all things.

“Save my son,” she pleaded.

“Why would I?” he sneered, his eyebrows lurking up at the creases on his forehead. “And why would you care? You’re going to be dead anyways.”

Hearing him talk about death punched her in the stomach.

“I love him,” she gasped. Then, gaping her last breath, a tear rolled down her cheek.