Raven sits beside me with her hands folded in her lap, staring out the window at the trees beyond the parking lot. She isn't crying anymore.
She's just… quiet.
That steadiness scares me more than anything else.
I should say something. I should tell her we’ll find someone else. Another specialist. Another plan. I should promise something.
Instead, I back out slowly, like control over small things still matters. And I drive.
Around us, the world keeps moving.
A man jogs past with a dog straining at its leash. A couple crosses at the light, arguing about something small and probably forgettable. The sun hits the windshield at the wrong angle, and I squint, irritated by something as ordinary as glare.
Months.
Weeks.
The words replay without permission.
I keep my eyes on the road because if I look at her, I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep myself together.
The steering wheel presses hard into my palms. My grip tightens without me realizing it, and I have to force my fingers to loosen before they go numb.
This is a problem, and all problems have solutions.
There are surgeons in other states. Other countries. Experimental treatments. I start building a list in my head, organizing it the way I would any other crisis.
I can fix this.
I have to fix this.
Because there is no me without her.
We stop at a red light, and I glance over before I can stop myself. She’s staring straight ahead now, not at the trees.
At nothing.
Her reflection in the window looks thinner than it did this morning.
“Rae—” I start.
But then the light changes and the word dissolves in my mouth.
By the time we turn onto the dirt road leading to our cottage, the sky has shifted toward evening. I pull into the driveway and cut the engine.
Raven reaches for the handle and opens her door before I can say anything.
I’m out a second later.
She’s already walking toward the front path, her steps even, measured.
“Raven,” I call.
She stops, but doesn’t turn around. “Just…give me a few minutes.”
I swallow. “Okay.”
She nods once and continues around to the back yard, disappearing behind the house.