“I’m right here.”

She pointed to the plastic cup on the tray.

I held the straw to her lips, and she took a tiny sip.

“Daddy said people would get mad if I messed up being dead,” she whispered.

I put the cup down and smoothed the blanket where her fingers were tugging at the edge.

“You didn’t mess up anything.

You’re never going back there.”

She shut her eyes again.