My adopted sister and I were both dying of cancer, but when my husband was asked to help decide who would receive the only available place in a promising clinical trial, he chose her. He didn’t tell me himself. I learned it from a hospital coordinator who looked at my chart, went quiet, and asked whether I understood that my application had been withdrawn.

Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke on the bedroom floor.

I remembered getting up for water. Then a terrible wave of pain had folded me in half, and everything went black.

Ethan was standing above me when I opened my eyes.

Chloe was beside him, holding the stuffed rabbit Serena had given her.

“Mommy’s doing it again,” she announced.

Ethan looked exhausted.

“Cora, please. We have enough going on without another scene.”

I tried to sit up.

“I’m not making a scene.”

“Then why are you on the floor?”

“I fainted.”

He rubbed his forehead.

“You’re stressed. We all are.”

I watched him walk away.

He was a doctor.

He had seen my medical records.

And still he left me lying there.

An hour later, I called my oncologist and arranged an urgent appointment.

The scan results were worse than anyone expected.

My cancer had spread extensively. The doctor recommended immediate hospital care to control my symptoms and discuss the remaining treatment options.

“You’re very ill, Cora,” she said gently.

I looked out the window.

Traffic moved slowly along the avenue. Someone on the sidewalk was struggling to close an umbrella in the wind.

Ordinary life continued everywhere outside that room.

“How much time?”

She didn’t give me a number.

Instead, she explained what could happen over the coming days and weeks.

I listened.

Then I asked whether I could spend some of that time somewhere other than the hospital.

“That’s your decision,” she said. “But I want you to have support, and I don’t want you facing this alone.”

I almost laughed.

Alone was the one thing I already knew how to be.

Before leaving, I contacted an attorney. I wanted my affairs arranged properly and Chloe protected, whatever happened to me.

I also called my old friend Jane Vance.

We hadn’t spoken in five years.

Jane and I grew up together outside Boston. She became an attorney, while I moved to New York and built my business.

She had never liked Ethan.

When I announced our engagement, she warned me that he cared more about my family’s money and connections than about me.

We argued so badly that she didn’t attend the wedding.

I had missed her every year since.

Her voicemail answered.

“Jane, it’s Cora. I know it’s been a long time. I’m sorry about how things ended. If you can call me back, there’s something important I need to talk to you about.”

I hung up before I started crying.

At the hospital that afternoon, Serena was sitting up in bed watching television.

My parents were there, along with Ethan and Chloe.

They were discussing how to redecorate our townhouse.

“Blush pink would be lovely in the master bedroom,” my mother said.

Serena smiled.

“I’ve always wanted a pink bedroom.”

I stood in the doorway.

“Then paint it pink.”

Everyone turned.

Ethan frowned.

“Cora, you look pale.”

“I’m tired.”

My father waved toward a chair.

“Come in. We need to discuss the transfer of the boutiques.”

I placed the folder on Serena’s bed.

“The documents are ready. My attorney will review the final signatures.”

Serena opened the folder eagerly.

“You’re really giving me everything?”

“The business interests, yes.”

My father beamed.

“That’s wonderful, sweetheart.”

I glanced at Ethan.

He was already reading the documents over Serena’s shoulder.

I wondered whether any of them had noticed how much weight I’d lost.

Then I felt something warm beneath my nose.

Blood.

I reached for a tissue.

My mother looked irritated.

“Goodness, Cora. What’s wrong now?”

“Just a nosebleed.”

“You need vitamins. You’ve been running yourself ragged.”

I sat down.

For one moment, I wanted to tell them everything.

I wanted my father to put his arms around me.

I wanted my mother to say she was frightened for me.

I wanted Ethan to recognize what he’d done.

Instead, I asked quietly, “If I were seriously ill, would any of you believe me?”

My father looked up.

“Don’t start this again.”

“I’m asking.”

“Serena is the one fighting for her life,” my mother said. “Can’t you let her have that without turning everything back to yourself?”

Serena lowered her eyes.

“Please don’t fight because of me.”

I almost smiled.

She’d been saying that since we were teenagers.

I remembered the winter we met.

Serena was fourteen, thin and frightened, living in a group home after years in foster care.

I was fifteen and volunteering with my church.

She’d told me she had no one.

I had gone home and begged my parents to help her.

At first, they paid for tutoring and school supplies. Later, they became her foster parents and eventually adopted her.

I was thrilled to have a sister.

For a while, we were inseparable.

Then things began changing.

My friends started excluding me from gatherings Serena attended. My parents took Serena’s side in disagreements without asking what had happened.

If Serena wanted something, I was told to share.

If I objected, I was selfish.

Once, when we were seventeen, I asked her why she kept telling people things about me that weren’t true.

She looked directly at me.

“Because everybody likes me better.”

I remembered standing speechless while she smiled.

“You’re always going to be the girl who felt sorry for me, Cora. I hate that.”

I’d spent years trying to prove I never looked down on her.

Now she was taking my husband, my home, and the company I’d built.

And my family was applauding.

Chloe climbed onto Serena’s bed.

“Mama Serena, when you come home, can we make pancakes every morning?”

Serena kissed her forehead.

“Of course, sweetheart.”

Chloe turned to me.

“Mommy, you won’t mind, right?”

I looked at my daughter’s small face.

“No, honey.”

“Can I call her Mommy too?”

Ethan smiled encouragingly.

I wanted to tell Chloe that mothers weren’t replaceable. That loving Serena didn’t require loving me less.

But I was so tired.

“You can call her whatever feels comfortable,” I said.

Chloe threw her arms around Serena.

Everyone smiled.

I stood up.

No one asked where I was going.

Outside, I leaned against the hallway wall and caught my breath.

My phone vibrated.

Jane.

I answered.

“Cora?” she said. “What’s going on?”

For a moment, I couldn’t speak.

Then I said, “I’m sick.”

Her voice changed.

“How sick?”

“Very.”

“Where are you?”

I told her.

“I’m coming,” she said.

I closed my eyes.

Five years of silence, and those were the words she gave me.

I’m coming.

That evening, I took a train to a small coastal town in Connecticut.

I’d always loved the ocean in winter, when the beaches were empty and nobody expected the weather to be pleasant.

I checked into a modest inn overlooking the harbor.

The woman at the front desk offered me tea.

I accepted.

For the first time in weeks, someone asked whether I needed anything without expecting something in return.

I sat by the window and watched the waves.

My phone filled with messages.

Mother wanted me to arrange painters.

Ethan wanted to know where I’d put Chloe’s winter coat.

Father asked whether the boutique transfer had been completed.

Serena sent a photograph of the bedroom color she’d chosen.

I didn’t answer.

Instead, I opened a new message to Jane.

I’m at the Harbor View Inn. Room 204. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

Her reply arrived almost immediately.

Don’t apologize. Just stay there. I’m on my way.

Late that night, the pain became unbearable.

I called the front desk for help.

By the time the ambulance arrived, I could barely speak.

At the hospital, a nurse held my hand while the doctors worked to stabilize me.

I remember asking whether Jane had arrived.

“She’s on her way,” the nurse said.

Then everything went dark.