Dying
The woman knew she was dying, knew there was nothing she could do to stave it off, and knew that the man she loved would be lovely for the rest of his life. Death- she used to tell him- was one of life's little inevitabilities. Now she was not so glib, not that she still didn't believe that, but she didn't want to upset him any further.
She'd never pictured herself as the marrying type. That was for normal people who did normal things and led normal lives. But he'd worked on her, year after year as they began working together, until one day she told him she'd go on a date just to shut him up. That had been the beginning of the end of her single life, but she never regretted a minute of it.
She thought of her children and smiled when she remembered that she hadn't wanted them at first either. The couple's life was rife with danger, she had argued, not to mention they were the biggest pair of workaholics that she knew of. People in their line of work, with their specialized skills should not have children.
He'd won her over with his affable charm of course; he always did. A year after he'd tentatively brought up the subject, they were in the hospital, looking at their son for the first time. He was a good baby and she'd fallen in love at first sight, so they waited a few years and had another one. It was a daughter this time and she could tell that her husband was pleased.
Babies grow into children on their way to becoming adults, and the woman smiled, recalling each precious detail of their childhood. It was a bittersweet smile, though, because she had been right- as she always was- and the lifestyle that she and Max had led forced them to leave before their children were grown. She convinced herself and Max that Russ was man enough to shoulder the responsibility of raising his little sister, and besides they truly had no choice.
The time that separated them seemed like an eternity, so much so that she'd made a video for Tempe to help close the gap. She prayed that her daughter would not hold Max accountable for decisions that she had made for them and that one day father and daughter could be as close as they'd once been.
"Max," she croaked from the bed, her throat dry.
He was there in an instant.
"I love you," she told him, "And I'm sorry."
Their eyes locked and he knew what she was sorry for, though he kept shaking his head as if to deny it.
"We can still fight this thing, Ruthie," he told her, "Don't give up now."
"My head," she grimaced, "It hurts all the time, Max, it's not going away."
"We'll find a doctor," he was grasping at straws, "Someone who can help you."
"No, Max-love," she shook her head a fraction of an inch, "It's time, and I'm sorry."
"Love means never having to say you're sorry," Max told her.
"Bull," she smiled weakly, "We never would've survived if it did."
He nodded, still wallowing in his grief.
"So much for your rational mind," she teased, closing her eyes as another migraine seized her.
"I love you," he grinned ruefully, "It won't be the same without you."
"You'll survive," she told him, knowing that he would.
He sat by her bed as her pain increased and the time grew closer.
"Max," she wet her mouth for one final request, "Take care of the children. Tell them I loved them; we loved them. Help them understand when it's safe for you to."
"I will," he promised, and she could see the steely determination in his eyes set in, "I will."
She opened her mouth again to say goodbye but couldn't. The pain seized her one last time and she left.