PART 3
I didn’t tell Emily about the videos right away.
Not because I wanted to hide them.
Because saying it out loud would make everything more real.
The next few days passed in a strange blur.
People kept call
ing.
Family.
Friends.
Coworkers.
Everyone wanted updates.
Everyone wanted to help.
Everyone sounded heartbroken.
And every conversation ended the same way.
“Stay positive.”
“Keep fighting.”
“We’re praying for a miracle.”
I appreciated it.
I really did.
But after the tenth conversation, I found myself staring at the wall thinking:
What if I don’t want another speech about miracles?
What if I just want someone to admit this is unfair?
One afternoon, I was sitting at the kitchen table sorting through insurance papers when Lily climbed onto my lap.
“Daddy?”
“Yeah, bug?”
She held up a crayon drawing.
Three stick figures.
One tall.
One medium.
One tiny.
The tiny one had bright yellow scribbles for hair.
“Dats me.”
I smiled.
“I figured.”
She pointed to the medium one.
“Mommy.”
“Good guess.”
Then she pointed to the tallest figure.
“You.”
I looked closer.
The stick figure had enormous arms.
The arms stretched almost across the entire page.
“What happened to Daddy’s arms?” I asked.
Lily giggled.
