So the miracle happened. The one I had begged for. From God.
And God delivered.
That day.
My brother.
Alive.
Warm.
In my motel room.
I didn't ever want to stop holding him – keeping him safe.
I could now. I could do something for him that he'd spent his life doing for me. And I had tried so hard to save him from hell. I'd tried everything.
I'd failed. But God had listened. God had saved my brother. After my brother saved me.
Only I couldn't tell him about me.
He wouldn't understand.
Couldn't understand.
So I lied to him.