The living room was tidy, lavender lingering faintly in the air. I called her name. Nothing. Then I walked into her bedroom—and froze.
Claire lay in bed, frail and pale. Tubes and machines surrounded her, oxygen humming softly. My knees buckled.
She was gravely ill.
A neighbor stepped in behind me. “She didn’t want to worry you,” she said gently. “She’s been sick for months. She kept saying you’d worked too hard to be distracted.”
I moved to Claire’s side, heart pounding. Her eyes fluttered open. When she saw me, she smiled—the same gentle smile she’d worn at my graduation.
“I knew you’d come,” she whispered.
Tears blurred my vision. I gripped her hand. “I’m sorry,” I choked. “I was wrong. You’re not a nobody. You’re the reason I’m here. You gave me everything. You gave me your life.”
Her fingers squeezed mine weakly.
“You climbed the ladder,” she murmured. “That’s what I wanted. I didn’t take the easy road. I took your road—so you could walk it.”
The truth hit me all at once.
Claire had sacrificed her youth, her dreams, her health—everything—for me. And I had dismissed her as nothing.
