Rachel remembered the room going strangely quiet.
She remembered Mark asking the doctor to repeat the explanation.
And she remembered staring at a small cartoon sticker on the edge of the medical cabinet because she couldn't bear to look at her husband.
Ellie had been drawing a picture in the waiting room.
She was drawing a pink dragon.
When Rachel emerged, the little girl held it up proudly.
"Look, Mama. He has wheels instead of feet."
Rachel had smiled.
Then she had gone into the restroom and cried until she could barely breathe.
Ellie didn't know every detail of her prognosis.
Rachel and Mark had tried to explain her illness in language she could understand without giving her more fear than she was able to manage. They answered questions truthfully, but they avoided turning every conversation into a discussion of the future.
Still, children notice things adults believe they're hiding.
Ellie noticed how often her mother checked on her at night.
She noticed how her father stopped talking whenever someone mentioned next summer.
She noticed the worried expressions of relatives who visited with gifts and hugged her a little longer than usual.
Most of all, she noticed that adults sometimes spoke about her as though she weren't listening.
One afternoon, Ellie had heard Rachel crying in the kitchen while talking to her sister.
"I just want more time," Rachel whispered.
Ellie hadn't understood everything.
But she knew what time meant.
It was the thing adults talked about when they said they couldn't stay at the playground.
It was what nurses measured when they checked her breathing.
It was what her father blamed when he missed dinner because he had to work late.
And it was something her mother wanted more of.
Ellie began asking questions.
"Will I be big when I'm seven?"
Rachel told her she hoped so.
"Will I still have my wheelchair?"
They talked about how her mobility equipment might change as she grew.
"Will you still be my mama when I'm old?"
Rachel held her close.
"Always."
Eventually, Ellie asked the question both parents had been dreading.
"Am I going to die?"
Rachel had been sitting beside her bed, brushing the tangles from her hair.
Her hand stopped moving.
Every instinct told her to say no.
But she also knew that lying would not make Ellie's illness disappear.