Page 82 of The Song We Lost

The sunrise outside the window is too bright. The orchard is glowing in gold light. Life is happening. And my sister is dying.

“Maybe we get a second opinion,” I say, my voice shaking but pushing forward. “Maybe we will go somewhere else. Toronto. Los Angeles. There are specialists. Trials. I have money. I have…”

“Bailey.” Her voice stops me. “Come here.”

I don’t want to move. If I sit beside her again, if I let her lean into me, if I accept this...

It becomes real.

“Please,” she whispers.

My knees almost give out, but I force myself back to her. I sit, she curls into my side, and I wrap my arms around her carefully.

She feels so small, so breakable and I am exhausted. Emotionally. Physically. Everything in me wants to break. To scream. To collapse into someone else’s arms for once.

But that’s not my role.

I built this life so we would be safe.

I built it so we would have options.

I will fix this.

We will find something.

I will not let this be the end of her story.

I press my cheek to her hair and stare straight ahead at the bright, beautiful morning spilling across the property we once dreamed of.

And I refuse to break.

chapter 21

bailey

. . .

The house smells like cinnamon and apples and something roasting in the oven. Rose has already started planning for Thanksgiving, like muscle memory won’t let her stop.

I am standing in the stairwell listening to them make lists and checking the weather deciding if we can eat outside or in the barn this year., like normalcy is something we can force if we just follow the steps. I finally force myself to move, to follow the voices.

Sadie is in the kitchen with her sleeves pushed up, arguing about stuffing ratios. Like nothing is wrong. Like she didn’t tell me two days ago that she is dying.

I haven’t slept much since. Every time I close my eyes, I hear it again.

Stage IV.

Advanced.

Months.

But when I open them, she’s here. Halfway through a pregnancy. Alive. Talking about cranberries like the world hasn’t tilted. She looks almost… lighter this morning. There’s a strange calm to her. Now that I know, she doesn’t have to pretend for me anymore. The secret isn’t sitting between us like a live wire.

Now I am the one pretending.

I quietly turn and step outside onto the porch, the cold air biting at my lungs. The property stretches wide and bright infront of me. I can hear workers hauling bins, laughing, calling to each other, even from here.

Life does not pause.