For a while, everything felt simple.
Then, four months earlier, Lily had been diagnosed with cancer.
One week, she and Aaron were discussing college applications, school dances, and weekend plans.
The next, Lily’s life became filled with examinations, treatments, hospital rooms, and long periods of uncertainty.
The diagnosis changed all of us.
It changed Diane, who tried to remain calm even when fear consumed her.
It changed me, because I no longer knew what to say to my friend.
And it changed Aaron most of all.
He was watching the girl he loved struggle through something he could neither understand nor repair.
Still, he never disappeared.
Whenever possible, he went to the hospital after school. He brought Lily snacks, helped with assignments, watched terrible movies beside her bed, and sat quietly when she was too tired to speak.
That morning, as he zipped the bag, I asked, “You’re heading there after school again?”
“She had a difficult treatment yesterday,” he replied. “I promised I’d come by.”
I nodded.
“Please tell Diane I’m thinking of her. I sent her a message last night, but she didn’t say much.”
Aaron hesitated.
“She’s exhausted, Mom.”
“I know.”
But something had been troubling me.
Diane’s messages had become shorter over the previous few weeks. Long conversations had turned into single sentences. Sometimes she responded with nothing more than a heart, a thumbs-up, or a brief “okay.”
I tried not to take it personally.
She was sleeping in hospital chairs, speaking with doctors, managing medications, and trying to remain strong for her daughter. She did not owe anyone cheerful conversation.
Aaron leaned down and kissed the top of my head before picking up his keys.
“See you tonight.”
“Drive safely.”
“I will.”
I watched his old car disappear at the end of the street.
After he left, the house became strangely still.
I remember standing beside the window with an uneasy feeling in my chest, as though something had been gathering around us for weeks.
I simply did not know what it was yet.
