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    Steve offered up a fading picture. “You were sick like me.”

    A small, sickly looking boy stared at the camera. Tony's face was pinched with anxiety, eyes huge in his exhausted, too-thin face. The oversized hospital robe he was wearing was stiff with starch, hanging off his protruding collarbones and pooling at his elbows. Behind him, Maria was stood dressed in her Sunday best. Next to Tony’s diminished pallidity, she was radiant. Her eyes were bright with barely suppressed excitement.

    Tony could still feel the phantom touch of her hand on his shoulder, squeezing hard, her fingernails biting into his skin in warning. He shivered and shook his head, stomach churning.

    “No, I wasn’t sick like you.”

    Language:
    English
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    29 May 2019