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It rained for days. Alex liked to brew tea and sketch by the window. I’d curl up on the couch with a book, the puppy, Pudding, asleep at my feet. Since the day I cried in front of him, we’d grown closer. The sound of rain outside, his pen scratching against paper, the occasional rustle of pages… it was a picture of domestic tranquility. A frantic knock shattered the peace.
It was Mrs. Peterson’s neighbor. “Alex, your
mom just collapsed! Come quick!” Alex froze,
then bolted out the door. I followed close
behind. Mrs. Peterson had always been kind to
us, especially after Grandma died. She’d been
bringing us homemade food almost every day.
She was lying in bed, looking strangely
peaceful. Alex rushed to her side. “Mom, are
you okay? Should we go to the hospital?” She
glanced at me, then sighed. “I wasn’t going to
tell you…” She fumbled under her pillow and
handed Alex a piece of paper. “I don’t have
much time left. My biggest wish is to see you
married before I go.” The paper was a medical
<
report: terminal cancer. Alex’s face crumpled.
After a long silence, he said, “It could be a misdiagnosis. We’ll get a second opinion.”
