Nina

The room is too quiet except for Griffin’s shallow breaths. Each one is a tiny lifeline I cling to. The doctor left hours ago with his grim verdict. “It’s up to him now,” he said, like that’s supposed to mean anything. Like that’s supposed to bring me peace.

But at least Griffin’s breathing. That’s all I have to hold on to.

I’m sitting on the chair beside his bed, my elbows resting on my knees, my hands pressed together like I’m praying. Maybe I am. I don’t know ...