Our last dance

Xavier strode through the door, the weight of the day sloughing off his shoulders at the sight ahead. Cathleen stood at the stove, her movements fluid, and practiced, with little Bella snug against her back in a carrier, her chubby cheeks squished against her mother's spine. He couldn't help but smile.

"Hey, my girls," he murmured, bending to press a kiss first on Cathleen's temple, then on Bella's forehead, inhaling the homely scent of cooking and baby shampoo. He watched them for a moment longer before turning away, the warmth of their closeness giving way to the chill of the sitting room.

"I know you don't want to hear this," he called over his shoulder, the words carrying an edge as they cut through the domestic scene, "but your father has been discharged from the hospital."

Cathleen's stirring stilled, her body tensing up. She exhaled, a weary sound that seemed to carry all the weight of her dread. "I can't lose him," she whispered more to herself than to Xavier.

"Old man's tough