I stood in the kitchen, leaning against the counter for support as I watched Mum fuss over the cake mixture. The smell of vanilla and sugar filled the air, but instead of making my mouth water, it just made my stomach churn. I'd been feeling more nauseous than usual lately, and even the thought of food was enough to make me feel ill.

"Are you sure you don't want to sit down, love?" Dad asked, hovering nearby with a concerned look on his face. He'd been doing that a lot lately, hovering. As if he thought I might collapse at any moment.

I shook my head, trying to muster up a smile. "I'm fine, Dad. Really. I want to help with the cake."

Mum looked up from her mixing bowl, her forehead creased with worry. "Beth, darling, you don't have to push yourself. We can manage."

I bit back a sigh of frustration. Ever since I'd got out of hospital, Mum had been treating me like I was made of glass. I knew she was just worried, but it was starting to drive me mad. I wasn't dead yet, for goodness' sake.

"I'm not pushing myself," I insisted. "I'm just standing here. Besides, it's Nathan's birthday cake. I want to be involved."

Mum and Dad exchanged one of those looks, the kind that parents think kids can't interpret. But I knew what it meant. They were worried about me, and they didn't know how to handle it.

"Alright," Mum said finally, her voice gentle. "Why don't you read out the next step in the recipe for me?"

I nodded, grateful for something to do, even if it was just reading.

"Um, it says to add the flour gradually, mixing well after each addition."

Mum nodded, reaching for the bag of flour. "Right then. Here we go."

As she started to add the flour, a cloud of white dust rising from the bowl, I heard the thundering of feet on the stairs. A moment later, Meri burst into the kitchen, her face lit up with excitement.

"Is the cake ready yet?" she asked, bouncing on her toes.

I couldn't help but smile at my little sister's enthusiasm. At seven years old, Meri still saw the world as a place full of wonder and possibility. Sometimes I envied that innocence.

"Not yet, sweetheart," Dad said, ruffling her hair. "We've only just started mixing it."

Meri's face fell for a moment, but then she brightened again. "Can I help? Please?"

Mum hesitated, glancing at the mess of flour and eggs on the counter. "Well..."

"She can help me read out the recipe," I suggested quickly. "Come here, Meri. You can be my assistant."

Meri beamed, scrambling over to stand next to me. I put my arm around her shoulders, partly out of affection and partly because I needed the support. The constant fatigue was hitting me hard today, and even standing was becoming an effort.

As Mum continued to mix the cake batter, with Meri enthusiastically reading out each step — with a little help from me on the bigger words — I found myself thinking about Nathan.

His eighteenth should be such a milestone, a celebration of adulthood and new beginnings. Instead, it felt overshadowed by my illness, by the ticking clock that seemed to hover over all of us.

I shook my head, trying to push away the gloomy thoughts. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. I was determined to make it special for Nathan, to create a memory he could hold onto.

"Beth?" Mum's voice broke through my musings. "Are you alright, love? You've gone all pale."

I blinked, realising I'd zoned out for a moment. "Yeah, sorry. Just thinking."

Dad stepped closer, his hand gentle on my arm. "Maybe you should sit down for a bit, eh? You've been on your feet for a while now."

I wanted to argue, to insist that I was fine, but the truth was, I was feeling a bit lightheaded. "Yeah, okay," I conceded, allowing Dad to guide me to a chair at the kitchen table.

As I sat down, relief flooding through my tired muscles, I caught sight of Mum and Dad exchanging another one of those looks. I felt a flash of irritation, followed quickly by guilt. They were just worried about me. I shouldn't be angry at them for caring.

"So," I said, trying to change the subject, "what else do we need to do for Nathan's birthday? Besides the cake, I mean."

Mum turned back to the mixing bowl, her movements a bit too brisk. "Well, we've got the decorations sorted. And your father's picking up the food tomorrow morning."

"And I made a card!" Meri piped up, her face glowing with pride. "Want to see it, Beth?"

I nodded, smiling at her enthusiasm. "Of course I do. Go on, then. Show me this masterpiece."

As Meri dashed off to retrieve her card, I caught Dad looking at me with an expression I couldn't quite read. Sadness? Pride? Maybe a bit of both.

"What?" I asked, suddenly self-conscious.

Dad shook his head, a small smile on his face. "Nothing. It's just... you're good with her, you know? Meri, I mean."

I felt a lump form in my throat. "Yeah, well. She makes it easy. She's a good kid."

Before Dad could respond, Meri came racing back into the kitchen, a slightly crumpled piece of paper clutched in her hand. "Here it is!" she announced, thrusting the card at me.

I took it carefully, smoothing out the creases. The front of the card was covered in glitter and stickers, with 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY NATHAN' written in Meri's wobbly handwriting. Inside, she'd drawn a picture of what I assumed was supposed to be Nathan, surrounded by presents and a massive cake.

"It's brilliant, Meri," I said, genuinely impressed. "Nathan's going to love it."

Meri beamed, then her face grew serious. "Beth? Can I ask you something?"

I nodded, a bit wary of her sudden change in tone. "Of course. What is it?"

She hesitated, fidgeting with the hem of her t-shirt. "Are you... are you going to get better soon?"

The kitchen fell silent. I could feel Mum and Dad's eyes on me, waiting to see how I'd respond. How do you explain terminal cancer to a seven-year-old?

I took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "Meri, come here," I said, patting my lap.

She climbed up, her little face scrunched up with worry. I hugged her close, ignoring the twinge of pain in my abdomen.

"The doctors are doing their best to help me," I said carefully. "But... it's a very serious illness, Meri. They might not be able to make me better."

Meri's lower lip trembled. "But... but you have to get better. You're my big sister."

I felt tears pricking at my eyes, but I blinked them back. I had to be strong for Meri. "I know, sweetheart. And I'll always be your big sister, no matter what happens. Okay?"

She nodded, burying her face in my shoulder. I held her close, meeting Mum and Dad's tearful gazes over her head.

After a moment, I realised this might be the right time to bring up something I'd been thinking about. Something important.

"Actually," I said, my voice a bit shaky, "there's something I wanted to talk to all of you about."

Mum put down her mixing spoon, wiping her hands on her apron. "What is it, love?"

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. "I've been thinking... about organ donation."

There was a moment of silence, broken only by the ticking of the kitchen clock. Then, to my surprise, Mum nodded.

"We know, darling," she said softly. "The doctor mentioned it."

I blinked, taken aback. "He did? When?"

Dad stepped closer, his hand coming to rest on my shoulder. "It was while you were still in and out of consciousness. The doctor wanted to discuss all the options with your mother. And she passed it onto me."

I tried to remember, to dredge up some memory of this conversation, but my mind came up blank. The days in the hospital were a hazy blur, punctuated by moments of clarity that were few and far between.

"Oh," I said, feeling a bit wrong-footed. "I... I don't remember that."

Mum's face softened with sympathy. "That's alright, love. You were very ill. It's not surprising that things are a bit foggy."

I nodded, still trying to process this information. "So... what do you think? About the organ donation, I mean."

Mum and Dad exchanged a look, one of those silent conversations that parents seem to be able to have.

"If it's what you want," Dad said finally, "and if it's possible, given your condition... then we support you, Beth. One hundred percent."

I felt a wave of relief wash over me. I hadn't realised how worried I'd been about their reaction until that moment.

"Really?" I asked, hardly daring to believe it.

Mum came over, kneeling down beside my chair and taking my hand. "Of course, darling. It's a very brave and selfless thing to do. We're so proud of you for even considering it."

I felt tears welling up in my eyes again, but this time I didn't try to hold them back. "Thank you," I whispered, squeezing Mum's hand.

Meri, who had been quiet during this exchange, suddenly piped up. "What's organ donation?"

I looked down at her, trying to figure out how to explain it in a way she'd understand. "Well, it's when someone gives parts of their body to help other people who are sick."

Meri's eyes went wide. "Like a superhero?"

I couldn't help but laugh, even as tears rolled down my cheeks. "Yeah, I suppose it is a bit like being a superhero."

"Are you going to be a superhero, Beth?" Meri asked, her voice filled with awe.

I hugged her tighter, feeling a mix of emotions I couldn't quite name. "I'm going to try, Meri. I'm going to try."

The oven timer's beep startled us. Mum jumped up, rubbing her eyes.

"Right," she said, her voice wobbling a bit. "Oven's hot. Let's get this cake going."

I nodded and gently pushed Meri off my lap. "Go on then. Help Mum with the cake. I'll watch from here."

Meri scurried off, all excited. I watched Mum lift her up so she could pour the batter in the tin, trying not to spill. It was such a normal thing, but it felt special somehow. These little family moments I'd never really thought about before.

Dad sat next to me and put his hand on my arm. "You alright?" he asked quietly.

I nodded and tried to smile. "Yeah. Just... thinking."

"About the organ thing?" he asked.

I shook my head. "Not really. Just... all this. Family stuff. I'm going to miss it."

Dad's hand tightened on my arm. "Beth..."

"It's okay, Dad," I said quickly. "I'm not... giving up or anything. I just... I want you to know I love you all. I'm grateful for everything."

Dad's eyes got watery again. "Oh, Beth. We're the grateful ones. You've shown us so much about being strong and brave. You amaze us every day."

I felt myself tearing up too. "Dad, stop. You'll make me cry again."

He laughed a little and hugged me gently. "Sorry, love. Can't help it. You turn me into a soppy old fool."

We sat there for a while, watching Mum and Meri fuss over the cake. The kitchen smelled all warm and delicious from the baking. For a moment, I almost forgot about being sick, about how little time I had left.

"So," Dad said after a bit, "what else do you want to do for Nathan's birthday?"

I thought about it. "I'm not sure. I want it to be special, you know? But I don't think I can handle anything too big or loud."

Dad nodded. "How about a picnic? We could go to that park you two always liked. The one with the big oak tree."

I felt a bit excited at the idea. "Yeah, that sounds great. Do you think we could manage it?"

"Of course we can," Dad said firmly. "We'll sort it all out. You just focus on having a good time, okay?"

I nodded, feeling really grateful. "Thanks, Dad. For everything."

He squeezed my shoulder. "Anything for you, love. You know that."

Mum put the cake in the oven, and Meri came bouncing back over, cake batter all over her face.

"Can we play a game while we wait for the cake?" she asked, bouncing up and down.

I looked at the clock. "Sure, why not? What do you want to play?"

"Snakes and Ladders!" Meri shouted. "Please, Beth? Will you play with me?"

I nodded, couldn't say no to her excitement. "Alright, go get the board. But watch out, I'm feeling lucky today."

As Meri ran off to get the game, I saw Mum and Dad looking at each other again. But this time, instead of looking worried or sad, they looked... proud, maybe. Or loving. Probably both.

We played board games for the next hour, with Meri happily sending us down snakes and racing up ladders. I felt myself relaxing, laughing at Meri being silly and Dad's terrible jokes. It was nice, just being a family, without thinking about me being ill so much.

As we were setting up for our third game, the doorbell rang. Mum went to answer it, and then we heard Nathan's voice from the hall.

"Nathan!" Meri yelled, leaving the game board and running out to see him.

I smiled, hearing Nathan laugh as Meri probably jumped on him. A moment later, they came in, Meri hanging onto Nathan like a little monkey.

"Hey," Nathan said, looking right at me. "Am I interrupting?"

I shook my head, pushing myself up. "Not at all. We were just playing games while your birthday cake bakes."

Nathan's eyes got big. "You're making me a cake?"

"Of course we are," Mum said, coming in behind him. "It's not every day our Nathan turns eighteen, is it?"

Nathan looked a bit overwhelmed, his eyes getting shiny. "You didn't have to do that."

"We wanted to," I said firmly, walking over to him. "It's a special day."

Nathan put his arm around me as soon as I got close, and kissed the top of my head. "You're amazing, you know that?" he said quietly.

I leaned against him, enjoying how warm he was. "So are you," I whispered back.

Being there, with my family around me, smelling the cake baking and hearing Meri talking away, I felt really determined. I might not have much time left, but I was going to make it count. Starting with making sure Nathan had the best eighteenth birthday ever.

Because these moments, these ordinary moments of love and laughter and family... these were what made life worth living. And I was going to hold onto them as hard as I could.