“Are you sure you want to do this?” Her hand was weak and frail in mine.
”I’ve never been more sure of anything.” I smiled at her, my beautiful, tenacious, fading child.
The doctor’s face was grave as he asked if I was ready to begin the procedure. I nodded my agreement and lay back on the bed, still holding my daughter’s hand.
I watched the monitors as our heartbeats syncopated: my strength becoming hers; her weakness mine.
Originally published on Friday Flash Fiction, 23rd October 2018