Give Brandon the inhaler the doctor recommended.
And maybe, just maybe, staying near Christopher would give me answers.
“What time?”
“Four.”
I returned.
Christopher acted as if nothing had happened.
That almost made it worse.
For three days, we barely spoke beyond what was necessary.
I helped him bathe.
Dress.
Eat.
Transfer to bed.
Stretch his arms.
Manage medication.
And every day, the silver locket remained around his neck.
He never removed it.
I began noticing other things.
Christopher hated mirrors.
He refused visitors after dark.
He woke from nightmares shouting names.
Daniel.
Marcus.
Ryan.
The first time I heard my brother’s name, I nearly dropped a glass.
Christopher pretended he hadn’t said it.
By the end of the first week, Brandon’s fever was gone.
Emma had stopped asking whether we had enough food.
I paid three months of overdue rent.
Then Christopher did something unexpected.
He asked about my children.
“What are their names?”
