In the worst of his nights, when he lay with his head in Nia’s lap and described to her in whispers the violence in his head, she did not tell him it was only a dream, that it was over, and there was nothing left to worry about. She spoke no lies. All she said was that she was sorry, which was all he ever wanted to hear; it could’ve been from a stranger, and it would’ve been enough to end the night. And it was these words that he now gave secondhand to the dying woman before him.
