Prologue
“Ami,” said a weak voice.
Ami snapped to attention, “Yes, Mommy?” she asked.
“Water,” came the raspy reply.
“Hold on,” Ami said as she reached for the water pitcher. She poured the water and handed it to her mother.
“Thank you,” said her mom, before she lifted the cup to her lips. She handed the cup back to Ami. Ami took the cup and put it on the night stand. “Jesus, Jesus,” her mom murmured.
“Mom? Mommy?” Ami asked, trying not to panic.
“I love you.”
“I love you, too,” Ami said.
Then Isabella Amythest Rogers breathed her last.
What have I done? Ami asked herself. Dad’s going to hate me.
They had the funeral three days later. Many people came to the funeral, but seven year old Ami didn’t notice. She was so deep in sorrow, grief, and guilt, that she didn’t even notice that someone sat watching her.
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