“You were hurt.”
“Yeah.” Her voice went quiet. “And it was mine.”
That stopped me.
Sophie stood near the couch until Alice finally asked why she hadn’t signed the card.
“You were hurt.”
Sophie stared at her shoes.
“My mom kept telling me not to talk about cancer unless you wanted to.”
“I didn’t want to talk about cancer.”
“I didn’t know what else we had to talk about.”
Alice frowned.
“We had dinosaurs.”
“I didn’t want to talk about cancer.”
Sophie finally looked up.
“You still think a shark beats a T. rex?”
“Obviously.”
Within minutes, they were arguing like they used to.
I stood in the kitchen and listened.
Alice had handled the thing I’d tried to handle for her, and she’d done it better.
“Obviously.”
A few weeks later, after her care team agreed, we tried a short classroom visit.
I packed water, medication, emergency information, snacks, extra clothes, wipes, and the hospital bag.
Alice watched me loading everything.
“How long are we staying?”
“An hour or two.”
She looked at the bags.
“How long are we staying?”
“It looks like three weeks.”
At school, I watched her constantly.
Eventually, she leaned toward me.
“Can you stop looking at me?”
“I’m checking on you.”
“Every minute?”
“I’m checking on you.”
I didn’t answer.
“You’re watching me breathe.”
That almost sounded ridiculous.
Then I saw her face.
She meant it.
I didn’t answer.
An hour later, Alice went quiet.
Her color had faded.
“We’re leaving.”
“I’m okay.”
“You’re exhausted.”
“I am tired, Mom. But I’m not dying.”
“We’re leaving.”
She looked straight at me.
The room seemed to shrink.
Alice looked sorry immediately.
I didn’t make her apologize.
I just took her home.
She looked straight at me.
At her next appointment, I told Dr. Malcolm everything.
The fatigue.
The paleness.
How quickly her energy disappeared.
He examined her and reminded me what symptoms should make me call.
Then I asked, “So you’d let her go back?”
I told Dr. Malcolm everything.
“I can tell you what her body can safely attempt.”
I waited.
“I can’t tell you how much fear you’re supposed to feel while she does it.”
I looked away.
“She’s going to have limits for a while,” he added. “Having limits isn’t the same as having no life.”
