My Childhood Sweetheart Asked Me to Sign a Special Folder in Room Four Hundred Seven

reaching out to tap my wrist with his index finger.

His skin was warm, too warm for a man whose organs were supposed to be shutting down, but I did not pull away.

“We are going to get those years back,” he whispered, his thumb brushing the back of my hand with a gentle, rhythmic stroke.

I looked at the locket, then at the gray shadow of his jaw, wondering continue reading …