And for one horrible second, I didn’t recognize her.
Emily had always been effortlessly beautiful. Bright hazel eyes. Thick dark hair. A smile that instantly made children trust her.
The woman in the hospital bed looked erased.
Her cheekbones protruded sharply. Her skin looked pale and translucent. Oxygen tubing rested beneath her nose while a monitor beside her bed clicked out a weak rhythm.
I crossed the room before my mind caught up.
“Emily,” I whispered, breaking apart.
I grabbed her hand. It felt impossibly fragile.
“Baby, I’m here. Mom’s here.”
Her eyelids fluttered weakly.
Then her eyes slowly focused on my face.
“Mom,” she breathed.
That single word shattered me completely.
I bent over the bedrail, crying openly now. “Of course I came. Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you let me help you?”
A tear slipped down her temple.
“Daniel said not to bother you,” she whispered. “He said you deserved your retirement. He said I’d only become a burden.”
A burden.
I had raised her alone after her father died. Worked endless shifts to put her through college. I would have traded my own life for hers without hesitation.
And that man convinced her I was too busy to hold her hand while she died.
Rachel touched my shoulder gently. “Mrs. Carter… can we step outside for a minute?”
I kissed Emily’s forehead and followed her into the hallway.
The moment the door shut, my grief hardened into something terrifyingly cold.
“How long?” I asked.
Rachel didn’t soften the truth.
“Days,” she admitted. “Maybe a week. The pancreatic cancer spread aggressively. It’s in her liver and lungs now.”
I braced myself against the wall.
