“It’s about Chase,” I tell her.
Cautious recognition flashes in her eyes. “I see.”
“He, um…he has a tumor.” Emotion swells, and the words fall out cracked, shards of broken glass spilling from my lips. “A low-grade glioma. It’s centered near the optic chiasm. They said it’s rare in adults, aggressive in the worst way. He’s losing his vision fast. They’ve already ruled out surgery.”
Parvati straightens. “I’m so sorry to hear that.”
“The doctors told him it’s wrapped around his optic nerve,” I go on. “So tight, they can’t even attempt removal without risking…well, everything. They said it’s twisted in all the wiring near the chiasm. That one wrong move would kill him.”
Her expression pinches with focus. Medical mode. “Yes,” she says quietly. “That area’s a minefield. A low-grade diagnosis doesn’t mean it behaves gently, especially when the location is that unforgiving.”
“I’ve been trying not to lose hope,” I admit, voice strained. “But I also can’t just sit back and do nothing. I love him. He’s everything to me. So I came here, hoping, praying that you might be able to help him. That you can do something. Anything.”
She sighs, her eyes never leaving mine. “Annalise, I don’t have the kind of experience to take on something like that. I’m still early in my residency. Neuro is incredibly delicate, and that part of the brain is practically sacred ground.”
“I understand,” I whisper. “This was kind of a shot in the dark, and I just…I believe everything happens for a reason, you know? That it’s all connectedsomehow. Even the bad, terrible things that feel unexplainable at the time.” My breathing picks up with edging panic. “And that day at the gas station…it set everything in motion. Him and me, the band, you and your family. Now this. And maybe that sounds ridiculous to you, but I had to ask. I had to try.”
For a second, Parvati doesn’t speak. She studies me like I’m a textbook of overlapping systems, trying to trace the origin of whatever force brought me to her.
Then she says, carefully, “When it’s that close to the chiasm, surgical margins become a nightmare. It’s not just about removing the tumor—it’s about preserving everything else it touches.”
I nod, swallowing hard, my hope fading like a dwindling candle flame. “I know.”
“But there are emerging techniques,” she adds, her gaze turning contemplative. “Neuro-oncology consults. Combined protocols that use intraoperative MRI, mapping, even awake craniotomies to preserve function. It’s high risk. But it’s not impossible…” She trails off, drumming her fingers against her thigh. “The right hands can change outcomes. It’s smart to get a second opinion.”
The sting behind my eyes swells, biting and burning.
But hope flares, the candle dancing back to life.
“I can’t promise anything,” she continues. “But I do have mentors. People who specialize in these things. Skull base surgeons, neurosurgeons at major hospitals. They’ve seen things I haven’t even studied yet. I could reach out. See if anyone is willing to look at his case.”
My breath catches on a choked sob. “Really?”
Parvati watches me for a beat, then reaches into her coat pocket for a napkin and a pen. She presses the napkin to her knee and scribbles down her contact information. “Have him send me everything,” she says. “Scans. Bloodwork. Doctor’s notes. I’ll get it in front of someone.”
“Thank you,” I whisper, the weight of it hitting me all at once. “Parvati, thank you so much.”
The glimmer in her eyes is soft but real. “I should warn you, his vision loss will be permanent. That sort of thing is irreversible. I don’t want you to cling to hope that one day he might—”
“I know. I get it.” I fold the napkin carefully, like it’s something precious. “This isn’t about fixing what’s already broken. It’s about holding on to what’s left.”
Parvati nods once. “Good.”
“Chase has already lost so much. But he’s still him. Still here. And if there’s any chance of keeping him that way, I have to take it.” I glance down, running my thumb over her handwriting. “He made me realize that we don’t have to fix everything. Sometimes just showing up when it’s hard is the most defiant thing we can do. Loving someone when it’s messy. That’s what matters. That’s what counts.”
She pauses before reaching over and laying a steady hand on my arm. “Then we’ll fight for what’s left,” she says, a watery smile blooming. “And I do believe things happen for a reason. My mother lost her hearing when I was nine. Sudden nerve trauma. One day she was fine, and the next…” Parvati blinks toward a tall tree like she can still envision it happening in high-definition. “We thought it would ruin her. She was a musician—violin, mostly.”
I hold still, listening.
“She didn’t get better,” she continues. “No miracle. But she adapted. Learned to read vibrations through the floor. She started composing again using visual sound waves and retrained her hands for piano. Her world got smaller, but somehow fuller too.” She looks back at me, and there’s something fierce behind the glassiness in her eyes. “That’s when I decided I wanted to go into medicine. Not to undo the damage, but to help people find a way forward inside it. That’s what you’re doing, Annalise. So I’ll help you. I’ll do what I can.”
My whole body vibrates as I register her words and allow them to sink in, to reach the parts of me that have been clenched tight, braced for more loss.
Pressure burns the backs of my eyes as I look at her, not as the daughter of the man who pulled that trigger, but as a woman shaped by her own heartbreak, who chose not to be buried in it. “I don’t know how to thank you,” I manage.
Parvati smiles, squeezes my hand. “We don’t always get to change the story,” she says quietly. “But sometimes we can change the ending.”
I look out across the parking lot, everything blurring.
