“Promise me,” he whispers, “that you won’t go. For me. Do this one thing for me.”
Could I do that? Could I stay here, fix things with him, let someone else die in my place? …
I feel a stab of pain in my chest as I lie to him. “Okay.”
“Promise,” he says, frowning.
The pain becomes an ache, spreads everywhere-all mixed together, guilt and terror and longing. “I promise.”