Chapter 2

When I dragged my suitcase back into the outpatient lobby, my mother was still sitting on the metal bench outside the CT room.

She saw the suitcase in my hand. She didn't ask why I had it. Her first instinct was to stand up and take it from me.

Her legs had gone numb from sitting so long. She stumbled.

"Is the hospital too far? Don't keep running back and forth. I'm fine waiting here alone."

"It's not far."

"Is Ethan busy?"

"Yeah, he's in surgery."

I lied. I didn't even have the courage to tell her the truth.

My mother let out a quiet breath of relief.

She bent down and dug through her worn canvas tote bag, pulling out a glass jar.

The jar was wrapped in three layers of plastic bags. She worked through each knot one by one.

"Don't blame him. Doctors have lives to save. Here, take this back to him."

She pressed the glass jar into my hands. The bottom was warm from her body heat. It was a homemade pear syrup she'd cooked herself.

A crooked handwritten note was taped to the side: For Ethan when his throat hurts — one spoonful.

"You mentioned he's always in surgery and his throat gets sore. I simmered those pears for three days. I didn't dare check it as luggage. Carried it in my arms the whole way so it wouldn't break."

My mother rubbed the calluses on her hands and smiled, a little carefully.

"Take it back to him. Tell him not to mind that it's homemade."

Looking at that jar, I felt something collapse quietly inside me.

I tucked it into my bag.

"Mom, wait here. I'm going back to get your bank card and your old medical records."

When I pushed open the front door, the living room lights were on.

Ethan was sitting on the couch with a tablet. Sophie was beside him, her shoulder nearly brushing the sleeve of his white coat.

"Don't worry, Aunt Hayes. A 1.2-centimeter nodule has a very high chance of being benign."

His voice was warm and unhurried.

"I'll personally walk you into the consultation room first thing tomorrow morning. All three department heads will be there. You'll be fine."

Across from them, on the other sofa, sat Sophie's mother.

A cashmere throw was draped over her shoulders.

I had bought that blanket last month for two thousand dollars. I'd been saving it for when my mother came to the city for her appointment — something soft to put behind her back in those hard waiting room chairs.

Now it was wrapped around a stranger.

The sound of my suitcase wheels rolling across the floor cut through the warmth in the room.

Sophie stood up.

"Oh, Lily's back. Ethan mentioned your mom is sick too — is it serious?"