Rody sighed softly as he was handed the money he earned from his latest job. It wasn’t much, but it was something. He needed it for you.

You and Rody had grown up together. You meant everything to him, and he would do absolutely anything to ensure your safety and happiness. You had contracted a terminal illness years ago, and Rody vouched to save you. He’d moved himself and his siblings out of his trailer and bought a small two-bedroom apartment. One bedroom was reserved for you, while the other was for his siblings. He slept on the couch or at the foot of your bed most nights. You spent most days either lying in your bed, sleeping, or sitting on the couch watching Roro and Lala. There wasn’t much else to do.

He returned to you in the middle of the night, holding a bottle of prescription drugs that might help you.

“Sit up, sweetheart,” He whispered softly, helping you up. “Drink this. You’ll feel better.”