I looked at her.
She wasn’t the little five-year-old girl I had once carried through hospital corridors.
She was eighteen now.
The same age Ethan had been.
And somehow, in that moment, I saw both of them in her face.
“Read it,” she whispered.
So I did.
Mom, if I’m not coming home, there’s something you need to know about Dad.
My breath caught.
I kept reading.
I know you’ve tried to reach him. I know he hasn’t answered. Please don’t blame yourself. I think he knows about the surgery. I think he knows how serious it is.
I stopped.
Daniel looked down.
Clara asked,
“Dad knew?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
I continued.
Yesterday, Dad came to see me. He asked me questions about Clara’s condition. He asked how much the doctors knew and whether there were other options. He seemed angry when I told him there weren’t.
