I took a turn for the worst. Nothing seems to be helping. The cold cloths that Willow presses to my forehead become warm almost instantly.
"Willow," I whisper softly. "I'm sorry."
"For what?" She says, holding back tears, "You have no reason to be sorry. Drink your broth."
"I'm sorry for not being there for you. I'm sorry for all you had to live through. I'm sorry that you had to grow up so fast. I'm-"
the tears pouring down her face are rivaled only by mine. "I'm so sorry."
"It's okay," she says quietly. "It's all going to be okay."
I look into her eyes, my father's eyes. It won't be long now. It won't be long before I can see my parents again. Look into their eyes. With this thought, I take my last shuttering breath.
YOU ARE READING
The Willow Tree
Ficción históricaWillow is a thirteen-year-old girl living during the Great Depression. It's only her and her brother Sawyer, fighting to live. You will probably cry, but you will grow to love all the characters and wish they could all have better futures. (I will p...
