I'm bracing for her to argue, roll her eyes, something.
But she doesn't.
"Don't worry," she says softly. "I already made an appointment. Monday afternoon, right when I get back to Miami."
Relief slams into me so fast I actually choke out, "Really?"
My voice cracks like I'm going through puberty again. "Angel, that's—God, that's good. That's really good."
She smiles a little, then her face sobers.
"Just... please don't tell Mom."
"Why not?"
She hesitates only a second before speaking.
"She's already having a rough time," Sam murmurs. "The last few days, she's been crying when she thinks I'm not listening. You know how she gets around this time of year... when Dad's anniversary is close."
My chest tightens instantly. I swallow hard, feeling that familiar heaviness settle in.
"She's barely holding it together, Zachy," Sam says softly. "I just... don't want to give her anything else to overthink or freak out about. Not today. I want her to focus on Dad, on us being here. She doesn't need extra stress when there's probably nothing wrong with me anyway."
She's right. Mom clings by a thread every year when Dad's anniversary comes around. One worry is all it takes to tip her over.
"If the doctor finds anything important, I'll tell her."
I exhale slowly. "...Okay. I won't tell her."
Sam leans her forehead lightly against my shoulder, a silent little thank-you.
"Let me go with you then," I say. "I want to be there for you."
She immediately shakes her head. "No. I'm doing this one alone."
I pull back a little. "Why?"
She shrugs, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Because if you come, you'll hover. And then you'll worry. And then you'll start asking a million questions, and they'll have to wheelyouout for stress." She gives a tiny smile. "And I don't want that. I don't want anyone fussing over me. It's just a checkup, Zachy. Not a big emergency. I'll be in and out."
I open my mouth to argue, but she hits me withthatlook — the firm, don't-even-think-about-it one she inherited straight from Mom.
"...Fine, fine." I lift my hands in surrender. "I won't go. And I won't tell Mom," I add, giving her a look of my own, "ifyou promise to tell me first. Whatever the doctor says. Don't make me chase you down."
She snorts. "I will. Promise."
I slide an arm around her shoulders and pull her gently into my side, pressing a kiss to the top of her head.
For a moment, she just melts into the hug — my little sister, strong as hell, but still someone I want to protect from everything.
And I hold her a little tighter.
*****
The sky looks bruised—gray, heavy, like even the clouds understand what day it is.
The cemetery is quiet except for the soft rustle of wind slipping through the trees. A few families are scattered around, visiting their own loved ones, but the whole place feels muted... respectful. Peaceful in the way only graveyards can be.
We walk the familiar path to Dad's spot. Sam's holding the bouquet she picked—white lilies and blue hydrangeas, his favorites. I'm carrying sunflowers because Mom said he always liked how "bright and loud" they were.
