Three days later:

Kenna's POV

The past three days have gone by so quickly that I can't even believe it.

I did nothing much in these three days other than worry about my biopsy reports, eat, worry some more, read, worry a little more, breathe, and worry even more.

Yes, I kept doing that for three days straight.

Last night, Dr. Hart rang in to inform us that my biopsy reports would be out by tomorrow morning, and we'd look at them together. The three of us.

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Mom and I are now on our way to Travenford, and I can feel the nervousness in the air.

It is so damn contagious.

I keep talking nonsense to avoid the silence, and mom keeps up with my madness by mumbling something we both don't understand. But that's okay because I didn't want the atmosphere to be silent.

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Once into Dr. Hart's cabin, nervously perched on our designated seats, mom and I wait for Tyler as he goes to fetch my biopsy reports.

I'm such a nervous wreck, and mom's worse than me.

Dr. Hart said he'd be back in less than five minutes, but it feels like it's been hours since he's been gone.

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After what feels like ages, Dr. Hart walks in with a thick folder in his hands.

He makes his way to his chair and sits down lightly. He places the folder on the desk and begins unwinding it like he has all the time in the world.

Well, I probably didn't.

He looks at the papers, and I try to peer over and steal a glance, but I fail to do so as he flicks the pages and looks in confusion.

When he makes it to the last page, he looks up at the air above him as if finding the words to speak.

He clears his throat and says, "Well, your reports are here and, um."

I could feel my heartbeat slowing down.

This is it, I thought. The moment of truth.

Whatever it said would be the truth. This test is surely accurate, and there's no turning back.

"Well, the biopsy shows positive results for Acute Lymphocytic Leukemia. And it's on the second level. If it isn't treated immediately, then there are fewer chances of survival", he says in a calm manner.

I freeze, and so does mom. I couldn't say a word or anything.

I just keep blinking my eyes and looking at him.

How is he so calm? Probably because it doesn't even affect him. I'm just another patient whose case he's looked into. He's probably used to it because it's his profession.

Mom begins sobbing. She places her head in her hands and sobs.

I look at Dr. Hart; he seems pretty upset. He looks up at the ceiling, deep in thought.

"Miss Joy", he says to mom.

She looks up at him and roughly wipes her tears away. She nods in response.

"Can we start treatment tomorrow? I assure you, it will be over even before you realize it. I promise you, Miss Joy and Kenna, that your lives will be back to normal even before you know it. I just need you to trust me on this one", he says confidently.

Mom nods again.

I'm too numb to do anything. To respond, to react, to talk.

"Thank you, Dr. Hart", mom says shakily. "When do we get here?".

"Here, drink some water," he says, placing a glass of water in front of her.

She takes two tiny sips from it and places it back on the table, looking at him expectantly.

"So, you can come over tomorrow with your essentials. We're going to admit her", he says, looking at me, and continues, "We'll keep her for a day under observation to monitor her, and the treatment would most likely start the next day if she's in the clear. Monitoring her would be the first part of the treatment".

"Okay, so she'll be here until it's all over, and, um, I can't take her home?", mom says barely above a whisper.

"I'm afraid, Miss Joy. Well, not until the treatment is complete, of course. It's not that you can't take her home; you can. But it's more advisable to be in the hospital. You know, if there's an emergency or any sort of reaction to the treatment, we'll be here constantly to look after her, whereas if she's at home and there's some reaction and you'd have to drive to get here, things will get delayed and complicated. That's the only reason I highly suggest that she remain here", he says in a serious tone.

Mom ponders what he says and slowly nods.

She looks him in the eye and says, "Okay, we'll move here tomorrow, and she'll be here until it's done."

My heart sinks. That's when the realization actually struck me. That's when I realized what was happening.

That's when it all came down on me.

I wouldn't be living in my apartment. I'd be living in a hospital.

"Come on, Kenny, let's go", mom says, standing up from her seat.

I stand up abruptly, waiting to be given instructions on what to do next.

"What time do we get here, Dr. Hart?", mom asks.

"I'll see you at eight a.m. tomorrow; sounds good?" he says, half stating and half questioning.

Sounds very good.

"Yeah, not a problem", mom says, making her way towards the exit of his cabin. I follow her like a lost puppy.

It was when I reached the door that he spoke again: "Take care of yourself, Kenna. Just today. I'll take care of you from tomorrow on," he says, flashing me another gorgeous smile.

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Once back home, I spend most of the day in my room. Taking in every little detail of it.

The beige walls, my double sized bed with my favorite purple duvet on it, my desk where my MacBook lies, my tiny bookshelf on the wall, my cupboards full of clothes and accessories, my little money plant in the corner of my room, which never really grew, and my favorite purple giraffe stuffed toy, whom I'd clutch every night before falling asleep.

I'll miss this. All of this This will probably be my last night here.

Just in case I never make it back.

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Mom tucks me in safely and sits in front of me. She hugs me and hums lowly into my ear.

She doesn't say anything; she just gives me one of her bear hugs and kisses me on my forehead.

"Good night, baby girl," she says, giving me another kiss on my cheek.

"Good night, mommy," I reply, planting a kiss on her right cheek.

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It's been an hour since mom tucked me in, and I haven't been able to sleep. I clutch onto my favorite stuffed toy, Daisy.

Mom says that it was bought for me when I was a toddler by my parents. Ever since then, I have treasured it.

Unable to sleep, I think about today.

Such a bad day.

The only good thing about today was dinner.

My favorite is chicken pasta. Let's not get into detail about how lovely it was before I get hungry again.

So, I thought about what was ahead of me. I would either live or probably die.

I thought about what Dr. Hart said: "I'll take care of you from tomorrow on."

I'm hoping he'll take good care of me so that I can live.