Her fingers have started to pluck at the bedsheets, the night-nurse says. There’s time; get some rest.

Next morning, she tells me Mama seemed to be reaching out to someone, tracing lines in the air.

When I lay down beside her and took her hand, it had finished the story.

E. C. Traganas is a published novelist and poet from New York City and a Juilliard-trained concert pianist and composer by profession.