Adara stared at the blank pages, hands poised over the keys.
One word. That's all.
So she typed one word. Then another. And another.
Each was a struggle, a silent battle she waged in her mind, each letter proof of her strength.
But still she typed.
Leo offered his two cents every now and then, helping her when the going got tough or taking over when her hands ached too much to press another key.
When it was done - thousands upon thousands of words - she pulled the papers from the typewriter, refusing to read a single word she'd written.
But it was done, and that was all that mattered. She'd chronicled what happened in her too-short long life.
And maybe someday, someone would read it.