I told him not to talk like that. He said my name in that truthful tone that always cut through.
I sat at the kitchen table, staring at the calendar—red circles for treatment days, and one for the wedding. I whispered to myself: “Waiting isn’t a plan.”
So I stood up. And I made one.
I called the girls. “No partners. Just you.” They came fast, like they felt it.
Grace asked, “Is Dad worse?” Lily went pale. “Did the doctor call?” Sophie whispered, “Mom?”
I held up my hands. “He’s asleep. Stable tonight.” Then I said the thing I’d been dodging: “Your dad might only get one wedding.”
Emily twisted her ring, staring at the floor. Paige’s eyes filled instantly. Nora snapped, “That’s not fair.”
“I know,” I said. “So we’re not letting it happen like that.”
I leaned forward. “He always wanted to walk you all down the aisle. Cancer is trying to steal that. We’re going to give him one memory. A few steps each. All of you in wedding dresses. One line. One moment.”
Emily whispered, “Mom…” I cut in: “Not seven ceremonies. Not stealing your day. Just a surprise. For Dad.”
