alone.”
Ethan looked up.
Matthew continued:
“Both can be true.”
That phrase again.
Apparently adults had all joined a conspiracy.
Lily’s treatment continued.
No miracle.
Some scans were encouraging.
Others unclear.
There were bad weeks.
Hospital admissions.
One terrifying infection.
Hair began growing back slowly.
At first fuzz.
Then soft curls.
When she noticed the first real strand, she texted Ethan a photograph.
You’re getting evicted.
Meaning the wig.
Ethan replied:
I want my hair back.
She sent:
Absolutely not.
Normal friendship.
Precious.
The donated wig became less necessary as
Lily’s hair returned.
One day she brought it to our house in a box.
Ethan stared.
“You don’t want it?”
“I do.”
“Then?”
“I don’t want to wear it anymore.”
He looked hurt before he could hide it.
Lily saw.
“Ethan.”
“It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not.”
He sat.
She put the box between them.
