The bed linens felt strangely rough against my delicate skin, my body a dense, unyielding mass. Why do Sunday mornings have to start so brutally early? I glanced at Bernard, a furry ball of happiness curled up next to me. Sometimes, I wished I could find peace anywhere like he does.
Muffled voices floated up from downstairs. Dad. Pops. Uncle Jake. Chandler. With a sigh, I checked the time – it was time to prepare for my chemo treatment. If I didn’t get up soon, the weight of this awful cancer would keep me pinned to the bed forever.
I shuffled to my dresser, grabbed a pair of well-worn leggings, soft as a second skin. I threw on a comfortable, oversized sweater, a cloud of cream-colored cable-knit that made me want to curl up and vanish. Thick wool socks and my favorite faded-pink Conver
