Side Note: I did the best research I could in regards to younger children with leukemia, but if I missed anything or if anything seems inaccurate, please let me know in the comments. Thank you.

• • • •

Graham:

How could I have been such a dipshit to her? God, you're so stupid, stupid, stupid!

"Excuse me?" The sound of a nose being blown and a throat being cleared pulled me from my thoughts. "Where in the hell do you think you're goin', young man? You need to sign in!" A pudgy woman with apple-red locks and crooked bangs exclaimed at the reception desk before I pressed the up arrow button next to the elevator.

Shit, I cannot catch a break today. One fuck up after the next.

"Who are you here to see?" She tore her attention from the computer screen in front of her. The name laminated on her tag read, Serrena Martin.

"Tara. Tara Shaw." My eyes landed on a plastic vase full of fake rainbow flowers on her desk. "My younger sister."

"Sign your name down below." Serrena set a clipboard with a pen attached to a string on the counter in front of me.

Before the pen could starch the surface of the milky-white paper, Serrena called out, "Ma'am? Hello, excuse me, can I help you?"

I opened my mouth to speak, but suddenly some female voice shouted, "Graham!" Turning around, I saw my mother walking towards the front desk holding two sandwiches in hand.

"So, he's with you?" Sierra asked, pointing to my mother with the tip of her ballpoint pen.

"Yes, and I have my visitors pass," my mother told Sierra, holding the laminated card up so she could see. "I was on my way back to my daughter's room with sandwiches when I saw the two of you talking."

Sierra shifted her weight in the black swivel chair she was sitting in and glanced at my mother and I from behind her black wire-rimmed glasses. "Well, since he's with you." she motioned towards my mother. "I guess he doesn't need to check-in also; it'll be our little secret."

I mouthed the words, thank you, and headed for the elevator with my mother close behind. "So, what sandwiches did you get from the hospital cafeteria?"

"There was only tuna and roasted turkey with cheddar left, and there weren't any mayonnaise packets—just yellow mustard," she replied, handing me one of the sandwiches. God, I was starving. I had forgotten to eat lunch today.

"How's Tara doing?" I asked and pressed the fourth floor button as the elevator doors closed. I leaned against the cool metal wall inside.

"I guess your father's not coming?" My mother inquired, avoiding the question I asked about Tara. "Not surprised. The minute he split, it became clear he wanted nothing to do with your sister's cancer."

"How's Tara doing, Mom?" I repeated my question.

Sighing, she finally looked at me, meeting my eyes. "Doctor Crawford has informed me that her leukemia is becoming more aggressive, it's best to undergo chemotherapy and also consider the possibility of a stem cell transplant if need be, but if Tara chooses to stop undergoing these treatments—"

"–she will die," I interrupted my mother, my voice cracking.

"Or she could live another five years, with the help of modern discoveries and advanced treatment plans," she explained, trying hard to keep optimistic. "Doctor Crawford is fantastic. She got her medical degree at Columbia University in New York–"

"I could care less about where Crawford got her medical degree, Mom," I interrupted, running a hair through my hair. "I want you to answer my fucking question: how long would Tara live if she decided not to finish this treatment plan?"

"Six months or less," she said, reaching out to touch my shoulder, but I inched away from her. "Sweetheart, I know this is challenging information to process, and I'm sorry," she added in the same comforting tone she used before.

"Yeah, knowing my little sister could die in six months or less if she doesn't go through with this plan is complex information to process," I said in mock–tone and watched my mother sigh heavily.

The elevator doors opened, and I stepped out onto Danbury Hospital's fourth floor with my mother following closely behind.

"Her room is down this hallway," she informed me as we passed by the nurse's station. I glanced into other patients' rooms, and it made my heart hurt to see some of them lying still on their beds.

The door to Tara's room was wide open, and we walked inside. "Graham, you're here!" She exclaimed and reached for me, making a smile spread across my face.

"Honey, Doctor Crawford said you should be resting, so why are you awake?" My mother asked Tara, which caused her to frown and drop her arms down onto the bed.

"I wanted to be awake to see daddy. Is he coming to visit?" Tara asked, her big green eyes filled with hope that was about to be crushed any second.

Walking towards her bed, my mother sat down and took Tara's hand in hers. "Well, honey, daddy's not coming to visit. Some unexpected plans came up, and he can't be here today," she explained.

Tara's face suddenly fell, and the hope in her eyes disappeared. "Oh, okay."

A low knock sounded on the oak-wooden door, and my mother and I turned to see Doctor Crawford standing in the doorway, holding a clipboard in her hand, while a stethoscope was around her neck. "Hope I'm not interrupting anything. May I come in, Mrs. Shaw?"

"Yes, of course, come in," my mother answered and stood up, so Crawford could look at Tara. "And please call me Karen. Mrs. Shaw isn't necessary."

Not responding, Doctor Crawford turned her attention towards Tara. "How are you feeling?" She asked and glanced down at her clipboard, flipping through sheets of paper.

Tara shrugged and responded, "I'm okay, but when do I get to go back home?"

"Soon. If the treatment goes well." Doctor Crawford told her, then added, "I need to speak with your family; I'll be right back, okay?"

She nodded her head, and Doctor Crawford led my mother and I out into the hallway, closing the wooden door halfway behind her. "Since Tara has reached stage three, which means she doesn't have enough red blood cells, but her platelet is near normal, so that's good. Although, I do think it's best to start this treatment plan immediately."

"Okay, but what will that mean for Tara's cancer?" my mother asked, "Will she get better?"

"If the treatment works, your daughter may have no signs of cancer for a while, called remission," Crawford informed us. "Now her cancer will likely come back though, and the next round of treatment might be the same as–"

"Yes. Do whatever you have to, Doctor Crawford." my mother said, interrupting her and wiped her eyes with the back of her hands.

The doctor skimmed over her notes again and said, "Here are some end-stage symptoms for Leukemia to be aware of," she started listing them off. "Weakness, confusion, food intake, sleep, anxiety, possible mucus, and may lose control of both urine and stool."

"Can you give us one moment alone, please?" my mother asked; I could tell she was trying not to break down in the middle of the hallway.

"Of course, take all the time you need," Crawford said and turned around, walking towards the nurse's station.

When she was out of sight, my mother wrapped her arms around me and cried. I ran my hand over her hair and whispered, "I promise she's gonna be okay, mom." I told her, then added, "and I'll give you my sandwich because you need it more than me. Just remember to give the other sandwich to Tara, okay?"

Nodding her head, she softly chuckled and said, "You two kids are my whole world." Then pulling away from me, she added, "so, I guess your father's planning on going through with marrying Barbra tonight?"

I cocked a brow. "How'd you know that? I only received the news today."

"I know your father better than he knows himself." my mother explained with laughter. "We've been together for a long time, even before we got married. We went to the same school from elementary school to high school."

"Marrying Brenda is his choice." She shrugged, letting out a sigh. "Do I think it's the right one? No, not in a million years, but the important thing is I've got my life along with two wonderful kids, and that's all I need." She pulled me into a bear hug.