"Daryl, what is this?"
I recognized the journal pages right away.
The first letter was addressed to Daryl, the second to Megan, and the third was addressed to me.
I read the one with my name on it first. My eyes moved across the page, and the hallway tilted under my feet.
"Dear Mom, my last scans from three weeks ago didn't give the results I told you. While waiting outside the consultation room, I overheard Dr. Patel going over my films with another doctor. They said that the numbers weren't moving the way we'd prayed they would."
I felt dizzy, but kept reading.
The first letter was addressed to Daryl.
"I cornered Dr. Patel the following morning. She confirmed it, and I begged her to sit down with me that same week. I asked her for a little time first before telling you. I explained that I couldn't bear to watch you break down in front of me."
"She knew?" My voice came out cracked and small.
Daryl nodded, his eyes wet.
"She made us promise, Megan, me, all of us, not to say anything. She didn't want you to spend whatever time was left crying, ma'am. Carol said you'd already given up too much for her."
I leaned against the wall and pressed the letters to my chest.
"She made us promise."
My breath wouldn't come right.
"This prom isn't an early prom."
"No, ma'am. It's the only one."
Daryl looked down at his shiny rented shoes.
"She didn't want to risk missing it. She wanted to dance once. With her friends. And she wanted you to see her happy."
A sound came out of me that I didn't recognize. I couldn't hold it back.
My voice tore down the corridor.
"How could Carol hide something like this from me?!"
A nurse near the desk looked up, then quickly looked away to give us privacy. Daryl didn't flinch.
"No, ma'am. It's the only one."
One of the teenagers opened the door and peered out, but after Daryl gave them a nod, they quickly closed it.
My daughter's friend just stood there with me while I shook.
"I'm her mother, Daryl. Her mother. I should've been the first person she told."
"I know, ma'am. She wanted you to read it tonight. That was her plan, not mine."
I wiped my face with the back of my hand.
"Why tonight, though? Why did she pick now?"
Daryl finally met my eyes.
"Because she wanted you in there with her, knowing. Not after. Now. While she's still laughing."
One of the teenagers opened the door and peered out.
I looked at the closed door of Carol's room. My beautiful girl was carrying something so heavy alone.
"She thought she was protecting me."
"She loves you, Mrs. Linda. That's all this ever was."
I folded the letters carefully, as if they might tear. Then I straightened my shoulders, smoothed my shirt, and turned toward Carol's door with the envelope still in my hand.
I opened the door and walked back into my daughter's room.
"She thought she was protecting me."
The music was still playing softly, and my daughter was glowing in a way I hadn't seen in months.
Carol looked up. Her smile faded the second she saw the envelope in my hand.
I sat on the edge of her bed. The room went quiet on its own.
"You read them," she whispered.
"I did, sweetheart."
Her eyes filled with tears.
"Mama, I didn't want you to spend our good days crying. You've been so strong. I just wanted you to keep hoping a little longer."
I took her hand. It felt so small.
Her smile faded the second she saw the envelope in my hand.
"Carol, listen to me. We don't hide anything from each other anymore. Whatever's coming, we'll face it together. No more brave little secrets. Deal?"
She nodded against my shoulder.
"Deal."
I looked around at her friends standing awkwardly by the wall, unsure if they should leave. I shook my head at them.
"Don't you dare go anywhere! My daughter's at her prom!"
I stood up and held out my hand.
"Carol, will you dance with your mother?"
She laughed through her tears and took my hand. We swayed in the middle of that little hospital room while her friends clapped softly and Daryl wiped his eyes.
"No more brave little secrets."
Four weeks later, Dr. Patel sat with us and said the numbers had steadied. Not a turnaround or a cure, just a plateau, a quiet stretch of road where before there had only been a cliff. More time.
That was the gift.
I don't know what tomorrow holds. Nobody does, but I know this: the night Carol's friends brought prom to her hospital room was the night our family stopped pretending.
