No new doll would be the one she sewed for me.
Tears spilled over, falling onto the doll’s torn fabric.
Finally, Linda spoke up.
“Enough. Don’t blame Sarah anymore. She always treasured this doll.”
“I promise you, I’ll sew it back together.”
Her warm hand brushed my head, and in that moment, my coughing actually stopped.
Love really could ease pain.
Mom, love me. Please, love me.
If you love me, I’ll endure treatment. I’ll try to live longer.
And so, I settled back into the house again.
My allowance was set to the same standard as Emily’s.
The allowance was enough for me to buy my own medication at the hospital.
After I brought the meds back, I carefully put them away.
I didn’t want to bring up my lung cancer on my own anymore—I was afraid they’d think I was faking it.
Even when I coughed, I tried to hide it from them, but they still showed their disgust.
Dr. James Wilson said the medication could hold things down for now, but I should be admitted as soon as possible.
I promised him that when the time was right, I would tell my family and ask them to accompany me for inpatient treatment.
When they truly loved me—when they truly accepted me—I would tell them.