“Honey.” His voce was a rasp, scraping the air as it went. “Honey.”
“Yes?” She stopped packing the bag and turned to look at the twisted shape of him under the covers.
“I need to… I need to know that you’ll do it.”
“Do… what, Roger?”
“I don’t want to stay… I don’t… please. When I turn, I need to know that you’ll take care of it. I don’t want to be one of them.”
“Oh, god, Roger, I don’t know.”
“Please. Emily, please, I need you to do this. Please.”
She took a deep breath and lied. “Of course.”
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