Justin
“You think the last treatment worked?” my mother asked, her eyes bright with hope I hadn’t seen in months.
For the first time in a long while, I felt something close to relief. The latest treatment seemed to have dulled the relentless ache in my bones, quieting the fire that constantly smoldered beneath my skin. Because of that, my mom’s hopes had lifted. She hovered more than usual—monitoring what I ate, asking too many questions, watching my every move.
I shrugged, trying not to feed her expectations. “I don’t know. Things feel a little more manageable now.”
“I told you it would,” she said with conviction. “It’s working!”
Classic overprotective mom behavior.
We were sitting upstairs in the family room. It was one of the few times I’d seen her look so natural—no jewelry weig
