It didn’t erase what he’d done, but I could finally focus on what Hailey needed next.
Nobody had to tell me to slow down.
***
A week later, Hailey and I flew to Germany.
Ethan stayed behind. Hailey wanted it that way.
“I want to talk to him,” she said at the airport. “But no big reunion.”
“Fair.”
“Can he call me?”
I could finally focus on what Hailey needed next.
“If you want.”
“I want.”
***
The first month was brutal.
After another blood test, Hailey dropped onto the bed. “I hate Germany.”
“You liked it yesterday.”
No big reunion.
“Yesterday Germany gave me cake. Today it took six tubes of blood.”
“Fair.”
Ethan called every Sunday.
***
One afternoon, Hailey stared at his name on the screen.
“You answering?”
“Maybe.”
Today it took six tubes of blood.
The phone rang again.
Finally, she picked up. “Hi, Dad.”
***
Three months later, a doctor showed us her newest scans. “The progression appears to have stopped.”
“Stopped?”
“For now. We’re also seeing modest improvement.”
Hi, Dad.
Hailey stared at him. “So I’m cured?”
“No.”
“But I’m not getting worse?”
“Right now, no.”
Hailey reached for my hand.
I started crying before she did.
