Are you going to die?

That's what he asked her, "Are you going to die?"
It's an uncomfortable question with an obvious answer under every circumstance, of course we're going to die. He had already held her hand for awhile, his eyes level with hers as she lay in bed.
"Are you going to die?"
"No, I'm not gonna die."
"No, she's not going to die, that's why she got her surgery, now she just has to heal."
"Oh."

Of course we've talked about it. He's been present while we talked about it. She was doing well that night, but her post operative wound leaves a lot to chance.

They left and I continued to read to her from Moby Dick. She enjoys it I think, at least she asks me to keep reading when I ask if she wants me to stop. I asked if the boys were too noisy. She said, "No. I like having them here." I think that night it was true, questions and all.