Onika, a single mother, is desperate to find a cure for her daughter's mysterious illness. Just as hope fades, she meets Dr. Beyoncé Knowles, a determined doctor who refuses to give up.
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Beyonce Knowles Queens, New York October 9, 2024
11pm
I sat with Amora, watching The Princess and the Frog while she cuddled up next to me. Nicki had gone out after Lauren and I convinced her to take a break. She needed it, more than she realized.
I promised to keep her updated and made sure to get her number before she left. It felt good to see Nicki finally take a moment for herself. She deserved that.
"You have to watch this part again!" Amora said, rewinding the scene where Ray got smashed.
I tried not to laugh. "That's not funny, Amora," I said, holding back a chuckle, but the little one rewound it again, laughing harder this time.
I sighed, shaking my head with a smile. "He died, sweetheart. We shouldn't laugh at that."
Amora just covered her mouth, laughing even more, her eyes lighting up with mischief. But after a moment, the room grew quiet, and her tone shifted.
"When I die, I want my mom to laugh... not cry," she said softly. "She's cried enough over me already."
My heart sank. I looked down at her, and I felt a weight in my chest that I couldn't describe. No five-year-old should be talking like this. Not Amora, not now.
I gently took her iPad and set it aside, turning to her.
"Talk to me," I said, my voice soft but firm.
She shook her head, looking down. I reached out, touching her chest, right over her heart. "What are you feeling in there?"
She sighed, her little shoulders slumping. "I'm tired," she whispered. "My body is tired. And my head."
I sighed too, wrapping an arm around her and letting her lean into me. "You're a fighter, Amora. A superhero. You've gotta stay strong, okay?"
She mumbled, barely audible, "Only for Mommy."
Those words hit me hard. I looked down at her, my eyes blurring with tears I fought to hold back. How was she this strong? How did such a small child carry so much?
A knock at the door broke the silence. One of the nurses stepped in, holding the brain scans from the MRI. My stomach turned as I stood up, taking the scans and holding them up to the light.
I looked at the nurse, and the look on her face confirmed what I feared. We both saw it, clear as day.
"Call Houston Medical. Get Vanessa Day here as soon as possible," I said, barely keeping my voice steady.
The nurse nodded and hurried out of the room.
"Damn it," I muttered under my breath, frustration and fear swirling inside me.
