That’sher. Her meds. Her specialist. Her entire safety net.
My hands shake. I set the phone down carefully, like it might explode if handled wrong.
“Mom?”
I look up—too fast.
Violet stands halfway between the table and the door, backpack dangling from one hand. She wasn’t supposed to see my face. But she did.
“You’re doing the face,” she says.
“What face?”
“The I’m-trying-not-to-panic one.”
I attempt to smile. It feels brittle. She walks toward me, silently, eyes darting between me and the phone.
“Is it about me?” she asks, voice barely above a whisper.
I shouldn’t tell her. I should protect her. But I can’t lie to her.
“Yes,” I say softly. “It’s… the clinic.”
Her chin trembles. “What about it?”
“The roof damage was worse than they thought. Some programs might be paused for a while.”
“Which ones?”
I swallow. The truth tastes like gravel.
“The diabetes support program.”
Her breath stutters. “But… I still need—Mom, I can’t—”
“I know.” I pull her into my arms before the fear can swallow her whole. “I know, sweetheart. And listen to me very carefully.”
She looks up at me through frightened lashes.
“You are not going without what you need,” I say firmly. “Not once. Not ever. I don’t care if I have to pick up triple shifts or sell both kidneys—I will get your insulin and your patches and your appointments. I promise you.”
She lets out a shaky, wet laugh. “You can’t sellbothkidneys.”
“Then I’ll sell one of yours.”
“Mom.”
I brush her hair back, kissing her forehead. “We will figure it out. Even if it means driving down the mountain all winter. Even if it’s awful.”
She wipes her eyes with her sleeve. “Okay.”
“Okay,” I echo, tightening my arms around her. “I’ve got you.”
She holds me back, squeezing hard, until her tremble fades. When she pulls away, she breathes out like she’s trying to stay brave for the both of us.
“You’re sure?” she asks again. “About… everything?”
“I’m your mom,” I say. “Being sure is literally my job description.”
