Meredith's sister

39

Mia's POV

The weekend came like a brief breath of fresh air after a week full of tests, appointments, and the crushing weight of my diagnosis. It was a strange sensation, this shift from hospital corridors to the quiet hum of home. For once, I didn't have to be anyone's doctor, anyone's sister, anyone's patient. I could just be mom.

Allison was sitting on the living room floor when I got home, her little hands busy with her toys as she hummed a tune I didn't recognize. She looked up when she heard the door, her face lighting up in a way that made my heart ache. She was my light. My reason to keep fighting, even when I felt the darkness closing in.

"Mommy!" she squealed, scrambling to her feet and running toward me with a big grin plastered on her face. She reached up, arms wide, and I bent down to scoop her into my arms, inhaling the familiar scent of baby lotion and crayons.

"Hi, baby," I whispered, holding her tight against me. For a moment, I just stood there, breathing her in, feeling the weight of the world lift with each heartbeat. She was my anchor, my little girl who didn't understand cancer or what was happening to her mom. All she knew was that I was there, and that was enough for her.

"Mommy, you play?" she asked, pulling back just enough to look at me with wide eyes full of hope. She grabbed a plastic dinosaur from the floor, offering it to me. "We make dinosaur friends!"

I couldn't help but smile at her enthusiasm, her innocence. She had no idea what I was going through, and part of me wanted to keep it that way—for as long as possible.

"Sure, sweetie," I said softly, sitting down next to her and taking the toy. "Let's make some dinosaur friends."

For the next hour, I found myself completely absorbed in the game, pushing all thoughts of scans, surgery, and cancer to the back of my mind. The room filled with the sounds of tiny dinosaur roars and giggles, and for a while, the heaviness inside me lightened.

Allison's imagination was boundless, and I could feel myself getting lost in it. I watched her face light up with each new adventure she created for our plastic dinosaurs, her small voice narrating their stories in a way that made me forget, just for a moment, the fear that had been gnawing at me.

"Mommy, look!" she said suddenly, holding up a red dinosaur triumphantly. "He fly! He save the day!"

I chuckled, taking the dinosaur from her and pretending it was soaring through the air. "Wow, he's a superhero!" I said in my best superhero voice, lifting the toy as if it was on a daring mission.

Her eyes sparkled, and she bounced up and down in excitement. "He save you, Mommy!"

The words hit me like a wave, and I swallowed hard, blinking back the sudden rush of emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. He save you, Mommy. I wished with everything in me that I could promise her I would be okay, that I would always be there to save the day for her. But how could I make that promise when I didn't even know what the future held?

Instead, I forced a smile, my voice trembling just slightly as I said, "Yes, sweetie. He's my superhero."

We spent the next few hours playing, her laughter a balm to my soul. But as the evening drew closer and the sun began to set, reality crept back in. The weight of everything—the tumor, the treatments, the unknown—was never far behind. And I knew I couldn't protect Allison from it forever.

That night, after her bath and a bedtime story, I tucked her into her little bed, kissing her forehead as she snuggled under the covers.

"I love you, Mommy," she whispered sleepily, her eyes heavy with the pull of sleep.

"I love you too, baby," I whispered back, my voice barely audible. I lingered by her side for a moment longer, watching her small chest rise and fall with each breath. "Always."

As I closed the door quietly behind me and walked down the hall, I felt the weight of my promise to her pressing on me like never before. I would fight this—for her. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving her before she understood what it meant to grow up, before she could remember my voice, my touch. I would give everything I had to be there for her, even if it meant facing the hardest battle of my life.

I found Teddy in the living room, sitting on the couch with a book in her hands, her gaze lifting as I entered. She could see the sadness in my eyes, the way I still wasn't quite able to let go of the fear that was always lurking just beneath the surface.

"How's she doing?" Teddy asked, her voice soft and full of tenderness.

"She's perfect," I said, my voice thick with emotion. "I don't know what I'd do without her."

Teddy set the book aside, standing up and crossing the room to me. She didn't need to say anything. Her arms opened, and I walked into them, the warmth of her embrace a comfort I couldn't quite describe.

"You're not going through this alone, Mia," she whispered into my hair. "You have me. You have us. And most of all, you have Allison."

I closed my eyes, allowing the tears to fall freely now, something I hadn't allowed myself to do in front of her, or anyone, in days. "I don't want to leave her, Teddy," I admitted, my voice broken. "I want to be there for her—for every moment. Every birthday. Every milestone. I want to be there to watch her grow up."

"You will be," Teddy promised. "We'll make sure of it."

And for the first time in what felt like forever, I allowed myself to believe it. That I would be there for Allison. That I would fight to see her grow up, to hold her hand as she learned how to navigate this world.

The fight wasn't over yet. But tonight, I had my little girl, and I had Teddy. And that was enough to keep me going. For now.