Today was the day that she was going to die.The doctors, who had been so wrong about so many things, were at least right about this: she would know when it was time. This morning when June woke, she was conscious not just of the pain, the smell of her spent body, the odor of sweat and various fluids that had saturated the bed during the night, but of the fact that it was time to go. The knowledge came to her as an accepted truth. The sun would rise. The earth would turn. She would die today.June had at first been startled by the revelation, then lain in bed considering the implications. No more pain. No more sickness. No more headaches, seizures, fatigue, confusion, anger.No more Richard.No more guilt.Until now, the notion of her death had been abstract, an impending doom. Each day brought it closer, but closer was never too close. Always around the corner. Always the next week. Always some time in the future. And now it was here; a taxi at the foot of the driveway. Meter ticking. Waiting to whisk her away.Her legs twitched as if she could walk again.
