We’ll build something bigger.
A week later, her story changed.
“He’s helping relatives out of state.”
“Which relatives?”
“Stop exhausting yourself with questions, Nora.”
“Dad’s never gone this long without calling.”
Dad stopped visiting.
“You’re exhausted, Nora. Stop worrying.”
“Why isn’t anyone else calling either?”
“I told everyone you needed rest.”
“Even Walter?”
“Especially Walter. You need to recover.”
Stop exhausting yourself.
Chemotherapy left me too weak to argue.
I’ll visit Dad when I’m better, I promised myself.
***
Six weeks later, Dr. Harris smiled.
“Nora, your scans show no evidence of active disease.”
“Does that mean I’m cured?”
You need to recover.
“You’ll still need monitoring, but this is wonderful news.”
I cried.
After fourteen months, I could finally imagine a future.
I called Dad first.
Voicemail.
I’ll visit Dad when I’m better.
Then Mom.
“My scans are clear! Can you and Dad come to the bell ceremony Friday?”
“Of course, sweetheart.”
