It was just supposed to be a normal check-up. You were having horrid headaches and nausea.

The car ride home was loud, with her yelling at you, about your decision.

You have a rare form of cancer, not an incurable form of cancer.

Rio sits next to you as you rest. She could hear you vomiting last night. It explains the weight-loss.

After a tense moment, she shakes your shoulder. “Bebé?” She whispers.

You’re well alive, but there’s a nagging feeling you won’t wake up.