Chapter 2

Grace's POV

I can't move. Why can't I move? Voices swirled above me. Hands touched my face. Someone kept saying my name over and over, but I couldn't respond. Couldn't open my eyes. Couldn't do anything.

Then everything went black.

I woke up staring at a white ceiling.

I blinked, my head feeling like it weighed a thousand pounds, my mouth so dry I could barely swallow. Where am I?

"Miss Johnsson? Can you hear me?" A doctor leaned over me, his expression way too serious.

"What happened?" My voice came out scratchy and weak.

"You collapsed at work. They brought you to the ER." He pulled up a chair, holding a clipboard. "We ran some tests. Blood work. CT scan. And I'm afraid the results are concerning."

My heart started pounding. Concerning how? That's never a good word to hear from a doctor.

"Miss Johnsson, you have late-stage pancreatic cancer."

The words didn't make sense. I heard them, but they felt like they were in a different language, like he was talking about someone else. Cancer. Late-stage. Pancreatic. Those were words that happened to other people. Old people. Not twenty-one-year-old waitresses.

"I..." I couldn't finish the sentence. My brain just stopped working.

"The prognosis is three to six months," he continued, his voice gentle but firm. "I know this is a shock. But we need to start discussing treatment options immediately. Palliative care, pain management—"

"Three to six months." I repeated the words, and they still didn't feel real. "That's... that's all?"

"I'm very sorry." He set the clipboard down. "Is there someone we can call? Family? These situations are incredibly difficult, and having support is crucial."

Family. I thought about Mom fussing over Emily's spilled milk. Dad kissing Emily's forehead. The empty chair at breakfast where no one ever asked me how I was doing. The college fund that existed for one daughter but not the other.

"They're at church." The words came out automatically.

"We should contact them. You'll need someone with you for this conversation, to help make decisions about your care—"

"No." I don't know why I said it. Maybe because I knew exactly how it would go. Mom would cry and ask what she did to deserve this. Dad would say it was God's will and probably find a way to make it about my failures. Emily would feel guilty for about five minutes, but they'd all still put her first in the end.

They always put her first.

"Miss Johnsson—"

"What's the point?" I stared at the ceiling. "Three to six months. What can anyone actually do?"

"Family support matters. Especially now. You shouldn't have to face this alone."

But I'd always been alone. I'd been alone my entire life in that house. This was just more of the same, except now I had an expiration date. At least before I could pretend things might get better someday. Now I didn't even have that.

I closed my eyes. Counting down the time I had left.

I was out of the hospital soon after. The doctor said I should stay for observation, but honestly, I couldn't afford it. I sat by the bus window with the diagnosis paper folded in my coat pocket, and my fingers kept touching it to make sure it was still there. Three to six months. Those words wouldn't stop playing in my head.

Outside, streetlights blinked on one by one while the sky turned that purple-gray color where day gives up and night takes over. I stared at my reflection in the window and barely recognized myself. I looked pale and hollow, like I was already halfway gone.

At least I can leave them something. The thought came suddenly, and I held onto it because it was the only thing that made sense right now. Fifteen thousand dollars. Three years of my life.

I started thinking about all those jobs. Three years of barely sleeping and always being exhausted and skipping meals to save an extra twenty bucks here and there.

That's something though, right? That means I mattered. That means my life counted for something.

I leaned my head against the window and closed my eyes.

The house was quiet when I got home. Mom and Dad's car wasn't in the driveway, so they were probably still at their church committee meeting. But Emily's light was on upstairs, and I could hear music playing softly from her room.

I found her in the living room curled up on the couch with her biology textbook. The TV was on but muted, playing some cooking show that nobody was watching.

"Hey." She looked up and smiled at me. "You're home late. Long shift?"

"Yeah." I sat down in the armchair across from her, and my heart started pounding. Just say it. Just tell her what you want to do.

"Em, I need to talk to you about something."

She closed her textbook and gave me her full attention. "What's up?"

I tried to find the right words, but how do you tell your little sister you're dying? How do you make that conversation happen without completely falling apart?

"I want to give you my savings." The words came out rushed and awkward. "All of it. For your tuition and whatever else you need."

Emily's eyes went wide. "What? Grace, no. Why would you do that?"

"I just want to." My hands were shaking, so I pressed them together in my lap. "You're in college and you need money more than I do right now."

"But that's your college fund." She looked genuinely confused. "You've been saving for years to go to school yourself."

Was. Past tense. I don't have years anymore. I don't have anything anymore except these few months.

"Just take it. Please."

"Grace, seriously, you don't need to worry about me." Emily shook her head. "I'm totally fine. Mom and Dad already gave me a lot of money. Like, a lot. I have way more than enough for school."

Everything in the room seemed to shift slightly, like the floor tilted under me. "What did you say?"

"Yeah, they set up this whole account for me when I started college." She said it so casually, like she was talking about the weather. "For tuition and books and living expenses and everything. And their life insurance has me as the beneficiary too, so honestly I'm really set. You should keep your money for yourself, Grace. You worked so hard for it."

The room got quiet in this weird way where I could still hear things but they didn't make sense anymore.