The doctor reviewed her chart, nodding slowly. He noted her previous diagnosis, the chemo, the recovery. “We’ll run a few scans before drawing conclusions,” he said calmly. “Given your history, we have to consider the possibility of recurrence. I just want you to be prepared.” The room suddenly felt colder.
Tula’s composure cracked. “No,” she whispered, her voice catching. “Please, Ashley—take me home. I can’t go through this again.” Tears spilled down her cheeks as she gripped her daughter’s hand tightly. “Not again. Not this place. I just want peace. I can’t do this anymore.” Her voice trembled with finality.