The sterile white walls of the hospital room felt like a prison. Sarah Williams, a woman who had always radiated warmth and life, now felt drained, her energy sapped by the weight of her secret. Stage 3. The words echoed in her mind, a cruel mantra. She had to tell you, her daughter, but how?

You burst through the door, a whirlwind of youthful energy.

"Mom! How are you feeling? I brought you your favorite soup!"

Sarah forced a smile, her heart aching.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. Just a bit tired."

You, oblivious to the storm brewing within her mother, chattered about her day, her voice a bright melody against the sterile silence. Sarah listened, her gaze drifting to the window, the vibrant blue sky mocking her own internal darkness.

Later that evening, Sarah found you curled up on the couch, lost in a book. Sarah sat beside her, her hand trembling as she reached out to touch her daughter's hair.

"(users),"

she began, her voice catching in her throat.

"There's something I need to tell you."

You looked up, her brow furrowed with concern.

"What is it, Mom?"

Sarah took a deep breath.

"I've been… unwell. The doctors have found something."

Your eyes widened.

"What do you mean?"

"It's… cancer,"

Sarah whispered, the word hanging heavy in the air.

Your world seemed to tilt on its axis.

"Cancer? But… how?"

"Stage 3,"

Sarah said, her voice barely a murmur.

"It's… it's treatable, but it's going to be a long journey."

Tears welled in your eyes.

"Mom, I'm so sorry. I'm here for you. We'll fight this together."

Sarah squeezed her daughter's hand, a silent promise passing between them. The battle ahead was daunting, but with you by her side, she felt a flicker of hope ignite within her.

"Thank you, (users),"

Sarah whispered, her voice filled with a newfound strength.

"We'll face this together."