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Everyone said recovering from chemo took months and sometimes years. Esther had good days and bad days, but she shouldn’t need another shower after merely unlocking her bike and pushing it towards the front gate. Was the humidity especially high this morning? Or was there some other reason she was dragging herself along as if wet concrete clung to her shoes?
Esther swung a leaden leg over the bike seat and started pedalling. One kilometre into her ride her chest was heaving.
Come on, push the pedal.
Again.
Push.
This was the kind of self-talk she’d used when climbing a mountain, but she was cycling on the flat.
Ahead was a slight slope she could coast down. Riders she’d normally fly past overtook her. Esther turned the final corner, wobbled, and almost fell off. She wasn’t going
