When Dr. Hawkins finally returned, his expression was carefully composed — but his eyes carried a weight that made my stomach drop.
“Mrs. Reynolds,” he said quietly, “we need to talk. Privately.”
Maya sat beside me in the small consultation room, trembling. Dr. Hawkins closed the door gently behind him and held his tablet close.
“The imaging shows a large mass in her abdomen,” he began carefully. “Combined with the blood work… Maya has advanced ovarian cancer. Stage III. It’s aggressive, but we caught it before it spread further. We need to start treatment immediately — surgery, chemotherapy, the full protocol.”
The room tilted. I couldn’t breathe.
Ovarian cancer. In my fifteen-year-old daughter.
I pulled Maya into my arms as she began to sob. The strong, brave girl who had been hiding her pain for months finally broke in my embrace.
Robert’s dismissal echoed in my head like a cruel joke. *She’s exaggerating. Don’t waste time or money.*
I had almost listened to him.
---
**The Fight Begins**
That night, when Robert came home, I was waiting for him in the living room. Maya was upstairs resting after the emotional hospital visit.
He walked in, loosening his tie, already complaining about traffic.
“You won’t believe the day I had—”
