Chapter 2

The next morning, I stood in the middle of my room. Looking at this space that hadn't changed in a decade, I felt a sudden urge to reclaim my life.

I unzipped my suitcase and began hanging my clothes in the closet—strictly on my side.

My sharp-cut blazers, silk blouses, and cashmere coats hung right next to Audrey's soft, pastel cardigans.

Then, I turned to the bookshelf.

I grabbed a stack of my old college textbooks and walked to the living room. My mom looked up from the kitchen. "You throwing those out?"

"Yeah."

"Oh, what a waste..." She walked over, flipping through a textbook on advanced accounting. "These cost a fortune."

"They’re taking up space," I replied.

My mom didn't push. Her eyes just went a little dim.

Back in my room, the shelf was half-empty.

I knelt down and looked at the bottom shelf. Those were Audrey’s books. A few medical journals, some classic novels, and several thick, leather-bound notebooks.

I pulled one out.

It had a dark blue cover, the edges worn thin. Embossed on the front were the words: Hospital Residency Journal.

I hesitated, then opened it.

The first entry was from eight years ago.

“March 12. Sunny. Today was my first solo night shift. A patient with severe cardiac arrest came in at 2:00 AM. We tried resuscitating him for an hour, but we lost him. His family was screaming and crying outside. I hid in the breakroom and cried, too.

My supervisor said I’m too emotional to be a doctor. But if I can’t even cry, how can I truly feel my patients' pain?”

I flipped forward.

“May 20. Overcast. My little sister called today. She got accepted for an exchange program in New York.

I’m so incredibly happy for her, but I feel a little left behind. She’s flying so high and so far, while I’ll probably be stuck in this small town forever.

Julian tells me I’m silly. He says everyone has their own path. But...”

The entry ended abruptly after "But." There was a small, faded watermark on the paper, where a tear had once smeared the ink.

I kept reading.

The entries became sporadic, sometimes with months in between.

Then, the date jumped to five years ago.

“February 14. Snowing. I got the diagnosis today. Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis. ALS. Lou Gehrig’s disease. The doctor said there is no cure. I asked him how long I have left. He said three to five years.

When I left the clinic, I sat on the hallway bench for a whole hour. Snow drifted in through the open window, melting cold against my hand.”

The handwriting here was shaky, the pen pressing so hard in some places that it tore the paper.

My fingers began to go numb.

“February 28. Cloudy. I finally told Mom and Dad. Mom cried all night, and Dad smoked one cigarette after another. I didn't tell Chloe. She’s writing her graduation thesis. I can't let her lose her focus.

Julian came to see me. He swore that no matter what happens, he will stand by me. I held him and sobbed, but all I could think was: What about Chloe? When she finds out, will she hate me?”

“March 15. Sunny. I made a very selfish decision today. Julian came to the hospital. I had a sudden panic attack and couldn't breathe. He was terrified, his eyes completely bloodshot.

I grabbed his hand and begged him: 'Julian, I’m scared. Please... don't leave me.' He said okay. He promised he’d never leave. I knew it was a promise born of pity, but I chose to believe it. Because I am so, so terrified of dying alone.”

There was a gap of almost ten months after that.

The next entry was in the fall.

“September 3. Windy. Chloe emailed me today. She got a job offer at Columbia University. She is amazing. I lay in my hospital bed, crying tears of pride and grief.

Julian asked me why I was crying. I told him I didn't know. But I did. I was mourning the dream of standing on the streets of New York with her—a dream that will never come true.”

“September 20. Overcast. I had a nightmare. I dreamed Chloe came back, stood over my hospital bed, and screamed at me for stealing Julian. I woke up shaking.

Julian was asleep beside my bed, holding my hand with the IV drip. Looking at his face, I realized that the two people I’ve hurt the most in this lifetime are the ones right beside me.”

“October 5. Light rain. The disease is progressing fast. My fingers are stopping to work. This might be my last entry. Chloe, if you ever find this notebook, please don't forgive me.

I was a terrible sister, a terrible daughter, and a terrible lover. But I was just... so afraid of going into the dark alone.”

The very last page had no date. There was only one sentence, written in a jagged, barely legible scrawl:

“I hope my little sister flies high and flies far. Never look back.”