Outside, cold air touched incision.
She flinched.
Then smiled.
She had not felt outdoor air in ten days.
Emily opened car.
Before getting in, Lily pulled hood down for three seconds.
Not for anyone else.
Just air.
Then back up.
Ellen watched from doors.
That was enough.
Home was harder than anyone expected.
Hospitals were frightening but structured.
Home contained mirrors everywhere.
Bathroom.
Hall.
Microwave door.
Dark television.
Car windows.
Lily noticed her reflection constantly.
Some days she ignored.
Some days cried.
Emily removed one full-length mirror, then stopped.
Dr. Cortez advised against turning house into avoidance maze.
Let Lily control exposure without pretending face no longer existed.
Hair began growing.
Slowly.
The scar faded from angry red toward pink.
Lily’s headaches improved.
Follow-up scan at six weeks was reassuring.
The family celebrated with pancakes.
Marcus received a photo.
He replied:
PANCAKES LOOK BURNT.
Emily sent:
YOU’RE NEVER INVITED.
He came Sunday anyway.
Not to hospital.
To Bennett house.
He brought Leah.
Lily had demanded to meet “the bossy daughter.”
Leah Hale was thirty-one, five-foot-nine, dark hair, denim jacket, and exactly as unimpressed by her father as promised.
She saw Lily.
“Finally.”
Lily stared.
“You made him wear pink?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you.”
Marcus sighed.
Betrayed.
Leah carried fabric markers and three plain hoodies.
Pink.
Gray.
Blue.
“What are those?”
Lily asked.
“My dad said you like drawing.”
“I do.”
“So design.”
Lily chose pink.
She drew a crooked lightning bolt.
Then a small line curving over one side of a stick figure’s head.
Underneath:
STILL ME.
Leah stared.
“That’s good.”
Marcus looked away.
Emily noticed.
He was emotional.
He hated being seen emotional.
Lily made Marcus one too.
His had enormous badly drawn beard.
“Accurate.”
Leah said.
Marcus glared.
The hoodies became a project accidentally.
Lily wore hers to her first follow-up clinic.
Another girl, maybe nine, saw it and asked where she got it.
Lily said:
“I made.”
The girl had lost hair from chemotherapy.
She asked:
“Can you make me one?”
Lily looked at Emily.
Emily said:
“If you want.”
She did.
Then another.
Child-life services noticed.
Leah helped with blank sweatshirts.
Marcus’s riders contributed money quietly.
No logos.
Lily insisted.
“No biker pictures.”
Marcus asked:
“Why?”
“Not everybody likes motorcycles.”
“Wrong.”
Leah said: