He hesitated.
“We may be able to slow the illness, but we can’t stop it. Based on how quickly it is progressing, Sophie may have less than a year.”
For several seconds, I could not breathe.
The hallway blurred around me. The doctor continued speaking, but his voice seemed to come from far away.
Less than a year.
My little girl had only recently learned to tie her shoes. She still believed stuffed animals became lonely when left in dark rooms. She drew smiling suns in the corners of every picture because, according to her, “the sky should always have a friend.”
How could someone like her be running out of time?
“Isn’t there anything else?” I whispered. “Another medicine? Another hospital? Something we haven’t tried?”
“We are reviewing every possibility,” he assured me. “But I don’t want to give you false hope.”
I nodded because speaking had become impossible.
