One afternoon, I sat beside her hospital bed while she slept. The latest treatment had left her weaker than before. Her face looked thinner, her hands smaller. Beside her was a leather journal I had bought her months earlier. She wrote in it every day and often tucked folded letters between the pages. When I leaned over to adjust her pillow, she woke and quickly slid the journal under her blanket. Hospitalroom decor
“Sorry, sweetheart. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” she said with a tired smile. “Just girl stuff.”
A moment later, her phone buzzed. Daryl’s name flashed on the screen before she turned it over. Daryl had been her best friend since middle school, the kind of boy who remembered birthdays and always checked on her. “He’s texting again?” I asked. Carol smiled faintly. “He’s just being Daryl.” I squeezed her foot through the blanket. “He’s a good kid.” Education
Her eyes moved toward the window. Prom was only four days away.
“Mom?”
“Yes, baby?”
“Do you think I’ll get to go?”
