ISA, concerned: You were up all night again? You said you wouldn’t! // HUSBAND: Don’t give me that look. This is more important. // ISA: I don’t want you running yourself ragged on my account.

HUSBAND: How can you be so nonchalant about this? // ISA: I’m not–I’m the one who’s sick! I’m SCARED! Please don’t make it about you, or your potions, or your magic– // HUSBAND: What good am I if I can’t help you? // ISA, pleading: We’ll figure it out. But right now I need you here. // HUSBAND: My being here won’t heal you, but maybe my being in the lab, will– // ISA: Am I not worth your time unless you’re trying to fix me?

ISA, frail but hopeful, in a letter: Your cure worked. Now that little girl will get to grow up–as she should. I may always wonder what my life would be like if I could go on living it, but I know I did the right thing. That’s what I wanted to say, most of all. That a child lives because of you, and I wouldn’t change my choice for anything.