“My mother died when I was seven. She’d been sick for a long time. All my life actually. One day I went to wake her, and she was—cold. She’d slipped away in the night, no warning, no goodbyes. After that, I was afraid to go to sleep. I wasn’t scared of being dead, but I was worried my father or I might slip away like that and leave the other all alone. So he’d hold my hand until I fell asleep, so I’d know he was there. You looked lonely just now, so I thought…”
