Under_The_Whispering_Door_by_TJ_Klune

Wallace closed his eyes. Nancy was there in the dark, her eyes tired, the
lines on her face pronounced.
“She was vibrant,” Hugo said, and Wallace wished he would stop. “Her
hair was a mess, but I think it was always that way. She was talking, talking,
talking, asking question after question. ‘Who are you? Where am I? What is
this? When can I go home?’” His voice broke. “‘Where’s my mom?’ The
Reaper wouldn’t answer her. He wasn’t like Mei. Mei has this … innate
goodness in her. She can be a little rough around the edges, but there’s a
reverence about her. She gets how important this work is. We don’t want to
cause further trauma. We have to offer kindness, because there is never a time
in life or death when someone is more vulnerable.”
“How did she die?” Wallace whispered.
“Ewing sarcoma. Tumors in the bones. She fought all the way until the
end. They thought she was getting better. And maybe she was, at least for a
little while. But it proved to be too much for her.” Wallace opened his eyes
in time to see Hugo wipe his face as he sniffled. “She was here for six days.
Her tea tasted like gingerbread. She said it was because her mother made the
most beautiful gingerbread houses and castles. Gumdrop doors and cookie
towers. Moats made of blue icing. She was … wonderful. Never angry, only
curious. Children aren’t always as scared as adults are. Not of death.”
“What was her name?”
“Lea.”
“That’s pretty.”
“It is,” Hugo agreed. “She laughed a lot. Grandad liked her. We all did.”
And though he didn’t want to know, he asked, “What happened to her?”
Hugo hung his head. “Children are different. Their connections to life are
stronger. They love with their whole hearts because they don’t know how
else to be. Lea’s body had been ravaged for years. Toward the end, she never
saw the outside of her hospital room. She told me about a sparrow that
would come to the window almost every morning. It would stay there,
watching her. It always came back. She wondered if she would have wings
where she was going. I told her that she would have anything she wanted.
And she looked at me, Wallace. She looked at me and said, ‘Not everything.
Not yet.’ And I knew what she meant.”
“Her mother.”