The third chemo session stretched out for nearly five hours.
By hour two, their mom stopped faking energy and just gave in she was exhausted. By the fourth, she fell asleep right in the middle of ranting about how the blanket was too cold and then too hot.
Leo sat next to her, hands wrapped around a cooling vending machine coffee, watching clear medicine drip into her IV.
The oncology ward had its own vibe hushed voices, recliner chairs, TVs hanging in random corners nobody bothered to watch, nurses floating by with gentle efficiency.
Nobody ever talked loudly here. Everyone seemed to know loudness wasn't needed. They already carried enough.
Lila left for school after making Leo promise, twice, to text updates. Their mom rolled her eyes through the whole routine.
Now, it was just Leo and the steady hum of hospital machines.
His phone buzzed against his leg.
Alex: survived two meetings and one stylist tried to dress me in yellow
Leo glanced at the screen.
Leo: tragic
