“No.”
Then she smiled.
“I’m worse.”
Aaron had laughed about it for years.
That was Mary.
She could be stubborn, dramatic, loud, and impossible.
But she loved deeply.
Especially her brother.
Chapter Two: The Dress
Mary bought the red dress during her final healthy summer.
She had gone shopping with me.
We had originally planned to find something simple for a family wedding.
She tried on several dresses.
Blue.
White.
Black.
Green.
Then she came out of the fitting room wearing red.
She stood in front of the mirror.
“Well?”
I smiled.
“That one.”
“You like it?”
“I love it.”
She turned sideways.
“I look ridiculous.”
“You absolutely do not.”
She looked at herself again.
Then she smiled.
“I think I want this one.”
So we bought it.
She carried the shopping bag to the car.
I remember asking:
“Where are you going to wear it?”
“Graduation.”
I laughed.
“You have two more years.”
“I know.”
“So you’re planning two years ahead?”
“Obviously.”
“That doesn’t sound like you.”
She opened the car door.
“I’ve decided to become responsible.”
I laughed.
“Who are you?”
She smiled.
“Your daughter.”
I didn’t know then that she would never get that far.
The first signs of her illness came months later.
Fatigue.
Persistent fevers.
Pain she tried to hide.
Then appointments.
Then tests.
Then specialists.
Then the word nobody wanted to hear.
Cancer.
Everything changed.
School became secondary.
Parties became irrelevant.
The future became measured in medical appointments.
But Mary remained Mary.
She still joked.
Still argued.
Still teased Aaron.
Still wore bright colors.
And she still kept the red dress.
Chapter Three: The Final Ordinary Afternoon
The afternoon I remember most happened several months into her treatment.
Mary had spent the morning at the hospital.
She was exhausted.
The doctors had adjusted her treatment plan, and we were waiting to see how her body responded.
On the drive home, she suddenly said:
“Mom?”
“Yes?”
“Can we stop?”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
I pulled into a small parking area near a public garden.
She opened the door.
“Just for five minutes.”
“Mary, you’re tired.”
“I know.”
She walked slowly.
She didn’t have much strength anymore.
Aaron was with us that day.
He had been unusually quiet.
The three of us sat beneath a tree.
There were yellow flowers growing near the edge of the grass.
Mary reached down and picked one.
A tiny yellow daisy.
Aaron frowned.
“You’re not supposed to pick flowers.”
Mary looked at him.
“It’s one flower.”
“Still.”
She held it up.
“Then arrest me.”
Aaron laughed.
She took the daisy and carefully placed it inside a book she was carrying.
“What are you doing?”
“Saving it.”
“For what?”
“Later.”
She looked at Aaron.
“Will you keep it?”
He shrugged.
“Sure.”
“Promise?”
He nodded.
“I promise.”
She smiled.
That was the afternoon.
Nothing dramatic.
No warning.
No final speech.
Just a sister, a brother, a mother, and a little yellow flower.
I didn’t know I was watching one of the final ordinary moments of my daughter’s life.
Chapter Four: When the House Became Different
Mary’s condition worsened.
There were more hospital visits.
More medication.
More nights when I slept beside her because she was afraid.
Aaron changed too.
At first, he became extremely attentive.
He sat beside his sister.
He brought her water.
He watched movies with her.
He did homework in the hospital room.
He made jokes when she looked frightened.
Then something changed.
He became quieter.
He stopped inviting friends over.
He stopped talking about college.
He stopped complaining about school.
He spent hours sitting outside Mary’s room.
I once found him there at two in the morning.
“Why aren’t you sleeping?”