“We discovered a serious blockage near your grandmother’s heart,” he explained. The good news is that we found it in time. The bad news is that the procedure she needs is highly specialized. Hannah’s face drained of color. Can you do it? The doctor hesitated. That hesitation frightened her more than the diagnosis itself. We can, but the specialist best qualified for this procedure isn’t currently available.
The hallway suddenly felt smaller. The air felt heavier. For a moment, Hannah thought she might collapse. Rose Brooks was more than a grandmother. She was the woman who had raised her, protected her, sacrificed for her. Losing Rose would feel like losing her parents all over again. The old wound instantly reopened. A vivid flashback surfaced.
12-year-old Hannah sitting in a funeral home. Two coffins. Too many flowers. Too many people saying they were sorry, then slowly disappearing from her life afterward. Only one person stayed. Rose. Rose who held her hand. Rose who sat beside her bed during nightmares. Rose who worked herself beyond exhaustion to keep food on the table.
