It’s not the cancer, it’s you, it’s you and the girls; you’re doing this, you’re killing me. It’s this house and that room. And the stress. It’s the stress of you and those girls. You leave me here, alone with them, and they shout and they fight and it makes me sick. More sick. It’s not the cancer, it’s you. It’s you and the girls, you’re killing me, you’re all killing me, and it hurts. I’m dying. I’m dying like this because of you.
The girls lay in bed, pretending to one another that they were asleep. It carried on.