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I remember sitting beside his bed as two doctors explained his latest scan results.
His cancer had continued spreading despite treatment.
There was nothing more they could do to stop it.
I nodded as though I understood.
Drew was supposed to have decades ahead of him.
He had places he wanted to visit, games he wanted to finish, and a list of things he planned to do when he got older.
He wanted to see the ocean.
He wanted a dog.
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More than anything, he wanted a motorcycle.
I’d raised Drew alone. His father had drifted out of our lives years earlier, leaving behind occasional birthday cards and promises that never became anything.
I’d spent 12 years trying to be both parents, telling myself that loving Drew enough would make up for everything else.
Now I couldn’t even promise him another birthday.
A few days after that conversation, Dr. Harris joined Drew’s medical team.
