“Diane.”
“I’ve been so jealous of him, Rachel,” she cried. “I sit there feeling useless, and he walks in, and suddenly she’s alive again.”
I pulled her into my arms right there in the doorway.
She sobbed into my shoulder.
I held her tighter.
“We are not rivals,” I whispered. “We are in this together.”
Six weeks later, Lily’s scans came back with the news everyone had been praying for.
The treatment was working.
That evening, Diane and I sat on my porch with cups of tea, watching the sun sink behind the trees.
Aaron’s hair was starting to grow back in soft dark patches.
So was Lily’s.
I used to think I was raising a good boy.
But that day at the hospital, I realized my son had quietly become a good young man.
And somehow, without trying to, he had helped the rest of us become a little better too.
