“When I’m gone,” he says, starting again, “Bellamy will have no one. There will be no one to celebrate her birthdays.” His voice breaks once again. This time, it doesn’t find its rhythm. “There will be no one to make sure she makes it home after she stays out too long with Larissa. Nobody will make sure she goes to the doctor when she gets bronchitis in the fall or makes her chicken noodle soup without carrots. And that …” Tears stream down his cheeks in a quiet river. “That’s what keeps me up at night.”
