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In those two weeks, I had righted the wrong that was done to Rosianna.

My adoptive sister.

My friend.

My fiancé.

My woman.

It made me feel peace. A peace that would have been complete of Rosy was awake. If Rosy's condition was getting any better.

Two months later, I stood in the doctor's office, refusing to sit. I dreaded that I had an idea what he wanted to say to me, and I had a gut feeling that it was not something I wanted to hear.

So I folded my arms and stood across the wall, leaning against it. I narrowed my eyes in irritation and watched the older doctor as he swallowed nervously as if contemplating how to go about what he had to say.

He began. “I think you should start preparing yourself both mind and body—”

“Don't fucking say it, doctor,” I cut in.

“—that Rosy might never wake again.”

“I told you not to fucking say it!” I roared angrily.

The doctor grimaced sadly. “Look, son...”

“I'm not your damn son!” I could hardly breathe against the tightening of my chest.

Yes, these p