I pulled my vinyl visitor chair right up to the edge of the bed and handed Grace one of the wooden spoons.

“They gave us two puddings,” Grace said, peeling the foil lid off her cup with a tiny tearing sound.

“Dad never let me have sweets after six.”

“You can eat whatever you want tonight,” I said, opening my own cup and taking a small bite.

We sat together in the quiet room while the hospital hallway outside filled with the muffled sounds of the evening shift change, rubber wheels squeaking on the floor, and low voices at the reception desk.

Grace finished her pudding, scraped the wooden spoon along the bottom of the cup, and looked down at her hands.