The doctor’s words came like static. Leukemia. Aggressive. Immediate treatment. She caught fragments — chemotherapy, bone marrow, prognosis — words that tumbled together into something too big to process.
For a moment she thought she saw pity in Evan’s eyes, but it vanished so quickly she wondered if she’d imagined it. He squeezed her hand. “We’ll fight this,” he said. “You’ll get better. I promise.” She believed him.