“I’m not ready to lose you.” Paul’s eyes water. He can’t see anything, except for Louise’s blurry outline. “I know, my boy.” Her voice is steady. “You don’t need to be.” She watches him wipe his eyes. “I hope heaven really does exist,” she says. Paul glances over at the portrait of Jesus above her, which is crooked. “I hope your dad is waiting for me.” She shuts her eyes.
