I glanced at the bag.
“Are you planning to feed an entire hospital floor?”
“Lily likes the chocolate ones,” he said. “And the food there isn’t exactly great.”
He spoke casually, but I knew how carefully he had chosen every item.
Aaron had always paid attention to small details. As a little boy, he could spend hours arranging his building blocks by shape and size. Now he used that same patience to remember which snacks Lily could tolerate after treatment and which movies made her laugh when she was exhausted.
Lily had been part of our lives for years.
Her mother, Diane, had been one of my closest friends for almost two decades. Our children had grown up together, sharing birthday parties, school events, summer barbecues, and countless afternoons in each other’s homes.
When Aaron and Lily began dating, Diane and I were delighted.
We first realized something had changed between them during a backyard barbecue. Aaron reached across the picnic table and took Lily’s hand. Diane and I noticed at the same time.
