Page 15 of Rest In Peace

A fleeting look of fear flashed across her face before she closed herself off again, retreating into a cocoon of silence. It was as if the weight of her past was too heavy for her to bear, locking her memories away within the confines of her fragile body.

Monica leaned against the doorway, her eyes filled with sorrow and determination. "She's been through so much," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "Please don't upset her."

I smiled reassuringly and nodded. "I understand, Mrs. Chapman. I'll be as gentle as I can. We just need to gather any information that could help us find out what happened to Victoria's parents."

Victoria kept her gaze fixed on me, her eyes filled with a mixture of curiosity and apprehension. I leaned closer, trying to convey empathy through my voice. "Victoria, I know this is difficult for you, but we need your help. Whatever you remember, no matter how small or insignificant, could be crucial to the investigation."

For a moment, it seemed like a spark of recognition flickered in Victoria's eyes. She hesitated, then for a minute looked like she would speak, but then gave up. Her eyes closed, and she was asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Monica said. “The cancer is in her throat. It makes it difficult for her to talk. She has barely said anything to me since she got here.”

I nodded, disappointed. “I understand. It must be hard.”

Monica’s eyes grew sad. “It is. I’m just praying I won’t lose her as well and will do everything in my power to prevent that from happening.”

I was about to leave when Victoria opened her eyes again and stared directly at me, and said:

“Wait.”

Chapter 20

THEN:

Sarah's trembling fingers clutched the cold metal of the hospital bed where her daughter lay, a constellation of wires and beeping monitors surrounding her. Steven's words seemed to hang in the sterile air like a verdict.

"Leukemia?" Her voice cracked—a harsh whisper that didn't sound like her own. "But how? What?"

Tears gathered, blurring the edges of the room into a watery mirage, and she sank into the chair as if her legs could no longer bear the weight of the news. Steven moved closer, his presence a solid comfort in the chaos of her mind. He reached out, enveloping her shaking hands with his steady ones.

"Shh, it's okay," he murmured, his voice a soft but firm anchor. "I will take care of her. Don't worry. We need to be strong."

"Okay." The word was a fragile promise as Sarah willed her tears to subside. She looked up at him, searching his face for certainty. "What does this mean? Will she—will she die?"

Steven's eyes held a well of compassion as he replied, "She will need to go through a lot of treatments—lots of time in the hospital. It was caught early on, so that's good. Treatments are very good, and most children survive it today."

Sarah's mind raced back to the small signs they had dismissed. "That's why she has been so tired lately?" She choked on the realization. "And pale, and she has hardly been eating?"

"Yes," he confirmed gently. "Those are all symptoms."

"Why didn't we see it earlier?" The terror in her voice clawed its way out, raw and exposed. Guilt gnawed at her insides.

This is all my fault. I’m her mother. I’m supposed to notice these things.

"Shh," he soothed, pulling her into an embrace that felt like safety. "We can't blame ourselves. We're doing everything we can, and that's enough."

Sarah found a sliver of solace in his arms, enough to find her voice again. "What kind of treatment will she need?" Her question was a whisper against the fabric of his scrubs.

"They don't know yet," Steven answered, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her back. "They need to run more tests, many more tests, to determine what type it is and so on. But she will probably need chemo."

"Chemo?" The word was a specter that haunted Sarah's thoughts. "But… but she'll—oh, my poor baby. She's so small."

"I know," he said, his voice a mixture of empathy and resolve. "We will take care of her. I'm a nurse. I’ll quit my job and take care of her full-time. That way, you can still take care of your job and career."

The enormity of his sacrifice hung between them, a testament to their shared love for their daughter.

"We can do this, Sarah," Steven asserted, his gaze locking onto hers, willing her to believe. "Together, we can."

At that moment, Sarah felt the steel of his determination meld with her own wavering strength. Together, they would face the uncertainty, the fear, and the love that bound them to their daughter and each other.

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