“So chemo first.”
“Yes.”
“How many cycles?”
“We’ll assess response after the initial cycles and adjust according to protocol and her individual risk.”
“Will she stay here the whole time?”
“Not necessarily. Some portions may be inpatient, others outpatient, depending on how she tolerates treatment.”
I looked at Sophie.
“How do we tell her?”
Dr. Chen sat beside her.
“Sophie?”
She looked up.
“Do I get pancakes?”
Dr. Chen smiled.
“I don’t control pancakes.”
“Then why are you here?”
Daniel covered his mouth to hide a laugh.
Dr. Chen nodded.
“Fair question.”
Sophie put down her marker.
“What?”
“We got more information about your tumors.”
“Bad?”
“Some of it is difficult.”
Sophie looked at me.
I nodded.
She turned back.
“The lump we removed near your ovary was cancer too.”
Her face changed.
“Oh.”
“And there was one tiny spot nearby.”
“Another crumb?”
I swallowed.
“Yes.”
She thought for several seconds.
“Did you get it?”
“The surgeons removed what they could see.”
“Then chemo gets the invisible crumbs.”
Dr. Chen smiled gently.
“That’s exactly the idea.”
Sophie nodded.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened.
“Tomorrow?”
“Yes.”
“Will it hurt?”
“The medicine itself usually doesn’t hurt going in, but it can make you feel sick afterward.”
“Throw-up sick?”
“Possibly.”
Sophie groaned.
“I’m already good at that.”
I squeezed her hand.
“What about my hair?”
Dr. Chen didn’t lie.
“This treatment will probably make you lose it.”
Sophie’s eyes immediately filled.
She touched her hair.
It reached just below her shoulders.
She had been growing it for two years.
“I don’t want to.”
“I know.”
“Can I say no?”
The question destroyed me.
Dr. Chen answered carefully.
“You can always tell us how you feel and ask questions. But because you’re ten, your parents make the final medical decisions together with the team.”
Sophie looked at me.
“Are you making me do it?”
I felt like my heart was tearing in half.
“Yes.”
She started crying.
“I hate you.”
I nodded through tears.
“You’re allowed.”
“I hate this hospital.”
“You’re allowed.”
“I hate cancer.”
“So do I.”
“I want to go home!”
She threw the blanket away.
“I want Pickles!”
I pulled her into my arms.
She fought me for three seconds.
Then collapsed against my chest.
“I don’t want to die.”
“You’re getting treatment because we want you here for a very long time.”
“Promise?”
I closed my eyes.
The old me would have said yes.
The old me would have promised anything.
But this family had nearly destroyed itself with promises nobody could guarantee.
So I kissed her forehead.
“I promise we will fight as hard as we can.”
She cried harder.
“So will I.”
Daniel turned away.
Eric wiped his eyes.
Dr. Chen quietly left us alone.
That afternoon, Maya visited.
Sophie’s best friend walked into the room carrying a stuffed shark almost as large as she was.
Neither girl knew what to say.
Then Maya looked at Sophie’s bandage.
“Your head looks weird.”
Sophie stared at her.
“Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
And somehow that broke the tension.
They started laughing.
Maya climbed into the chair beside her.
“I brought Mr. Bitey.”
“That name is stupid.”
“You named your cat Pickles.”
“Pickles is classy.”
For forty minutes, there was no cancer.
Just two ten-year-old girls arguing about whether sharks could beat crocodiles.
I sat outside the room and cried quietly.
Daniel sat beside me.
“This is what we’re fighting for,” he said.
I nodded.
That night, Sophie finally got pancakes.
Hospital pancakes.
She declared them “sad but acceptable.”
At 8:47 p.m., the oncology nurse came to discuss the central line they would use for chemotherapy.
At 9:30, Sophie asked if she could cut her hair before it fell out.
“Not all of it,” she said.
“Just shorter.”
So a nurse found scissors.
I trimmed her hair to her shoulders.
Then Sophie made me cut mine.
Only two inches.
Daniel claimed that didn’t count.
Sophie told him his opinion wasn’t requested.
For a few minutes, we laughed again.
At 11:18 p.m., Sophie slept.
Her first chemotherapy was less than twelve hours away.
I sat beside her holding her hand.
Then my phone buzzed.
Dr. Ruiz.
I almost ignored it.
Almost.
I answered.
“Please tell me this can wait until morning.”
“It probably can.”
“Then why are you calling?”
“Because you asked us to investigate David.”
My eyes closed.
“What did you find?”
“We located a medical record matching David Cole’s identifying information.”
My stomach tightened.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
I sat upright.
“What?”
“As of eleven months ago, he was alive.”
Eric was sleeping in a chair down the hall.
I looked toward him.
“Where?”
“I can’t disclose information beyond what we’re authorized to share yet.”
“Does he still have cancer?”
“Yes.”
“What kind?”
Dr. Ruiz hesitated.
“He has had several.”
Just like Thomas.
Just like Michael.
“What does this have to do with Sophie?”
“Potentially nothing immediate.”
“Then tomorrow.”
“Rachel.”
Something in her voice stopped me.
“What?”
“David participated in a genetics research study eleven months ago.”
I stared at Sophie.
“And?”
“He carries the same second mutation as Eric and Sophie.”
That wasn’t surprising anymore.
“Okay.”
“But his research file contains a note about Eric.”
My stomach tightened.
“What note?”
“David told the researchers he had one biological son.”
“Eric.”
“Yes.”
“And?”
“He said the child had never been informed of the family risk.”
I closed my eyes.
Another adult who knew.
Another adult who stayed silent.
Then Dr. Ruiz continued.
“But that isn’t why I called.”
“What is?”
“The researchers asked David whether he had grandchildren.”
My hand tightened around Sophie’s.
“What did he say?”
“He said yes.”
I froze.
“How would he know?”
“I don’t know.”
“When was this?”
“Eleven months ago.”
Sophie had been nine.
“What exactly did he tell them?”
Dr. Ruiz paused.
“He said his granddaughter should be tested before she turned ten.”
My blood went cold.
Sophie had turned ten six months ago.
“Why before ten?”
“The note doesn’t say.”
“Did he know her name?”
“Yes.”
My heart started pounding.
“Did he say Sophie?”
“Yes.”
I stood.
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
Then Dr. Ruiz said the part that frightened me most.
“Rachel, according to the research note, David had already seen Sophie.”
I stared through the glass at my sleeping daughter.
“That’s impossible.”
“The researcher wrote it down.”
“When?”
“David said he had met her once.”
“Where?”
Dr. Ruiz hesitated.
“At her school.”
Everything inside me went cold.
Because suddenly I remembered the unanswered question from the beginning.
Who had told Sophie that Anna’s dead phone number was her “emergency family number”?
I looked down the hallway.
Karen Blake’s office.
The school.
The place Sophie had been going again and again with headaches.
And for the first time, I wondered whether the strange information in Sophie’s head had come from something far simpler than visions, anesthesia, or forgotten photographs.
Maybe Anna hadn’t been speaking to Sophie at all.
Maybe someone living had been telling Sophie Anna’s story.
Someone who knew Anna.
Someone who knew the old phone number.
Someone who knew the treehouse.
And according to the medical record—
David Cole had been inside Sophie’s school.
PART 19 — THE MAN SOPHIE CALLED MR. DAVID
According to the medical record, David Cole had been inside Sophie’s school.
My biological father’s brother.
Eric’s real father.
Sophie’s biological grandfather.
A man Linda had told us was dead.
And eleven months earlier, he had told researchers he had already met my daughter.
I looked through the glass.
Sophie was asleep.
Her first chemotherapy was less than twelve hours away.
Suddenly, the mystery of Anna’s phone number didn’t feel mysterious anymore.
Neither did the yellow sweater.
Neither did the treehouse.
Someone living had known all of it.
“Dr. Ruiz.”
“Yes?”
“Did the research note say why David went to Sophie’s school?”
“No.”
“Did it say when?”
“Approximately fourteen months ago.”
“Before the research appointment?”
“Yes.”
“Can you send me the portion you’re allowed to share?”
“I’ll have to confirm what can legally be released.”
“Fine.”
I looked toward Eric.
“Does Eric know?”
“Not yet.”
“Don’t call him.”
“Rachel—”
“I’m twenty feet away from him.”
“I understand.”
I ended the call.
Then I woke Eric.
His eyes opened immediately.
“Sophie?”
“She’s okay.”
He sat upright.
“What happened?”
“We found David.”
Every trace of sleep disappeared.
“What?”
“He’s alive.”
Eric stared at me.
“As of eleven months ago.”
“Where?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can we contact him?”
“Probably eventually.”
“Then what’s wrong?”
I sat beside him.
“He told a genetics researcher that he met Sophie.”
Eric didn’t understand.
Then he did.
“When?”
“About fourteen months ago.”
“Where?”
“At school.”
Eric stood.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He went to her school?”
“Apparently.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Daniel had woken too.
He walked over.
“What’s happening?”
I told him.
His expression hardened.
“He approached Sophie without telling us?”
“We don’t know what happened.”
Eric was already reaching for his phone.
“I’m calling the school.”
“At midnight?”
“Karen gave us her cell.”
“Eric.”
He looked at me.
“Don’t accuse anyone.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m asking questions.”
“That’s what you said about Daniel.”
That stopped him.
He lowered the phone.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then:
“You’re right.”
Progress.
Painful progress.
I called Karen.
She answered on the fourth ring.
“Rachel?”
“I’m sorry.”
“Is Sophie okay?”
“She starts chemo tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Her voice broke.
“I’m so sorry.”
“I need to ask you something.”
“Anything.”
“Do you know a man named David Cole?”
Silence.
My stomach dropped.
“Karen?”
“I know the name.”
Eric closed his eyes.
“How?”
“He volunteered at the school.”
Daniel stiffened.
“What?”
Karen heard him.
“Daniel?”
“Yes.”
“He volunteered?”
“Not regularly.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Doing what?”
Karen thought.
“We had a community science program.”
Of course.
Sophie loved science.
“Outside volunteers came in to speak to students about careers, hobbies, local programs.”
“What was David’s role?”
“He was with a community astronomy group.”
I stared at Daniel.
Stars.
The treehouse.
Anna.
Count the stars.
Eric whispered, “Oh my God.”
I continued.
“Did he speak with Sophie?”
“I don’t remember specifically.”
“Karen.”
“There were more than sixty students.”
“Did he ever come to your office?”
Another pause.
“Yes.”
“When?”
“After one of the science sessions.”
“Why?”
“He asked whether I knew Sophie Morgan.”
My skin went cold.
“What did you say?”
“That she was a student.”
“Did he tell you who he was?”
“No.”
“What did he say?”
“He said he knew her family.”
“That’s all?”
Karen was quiet.
Then:
“He asked whether Sophie had been having headaches.”
Nobody moved.
I gripped the phone.
“Fourteen months ago?”
“Yes.”
Long before the six weeks when Sophie’s symptoms became obvious.
“Why would he ask that?”
“I thought he was a family friend.”
“Did you ask?”
“Yes.”
“He said certain headaches ran in the family.”
Eric sat down.
David knew.
Maybe not that Sophie had cancer.
But he knew the risk.
“What did you do?”
“I told him I couldn’t discuss a student’s health.”
Good.
At least one boundary had existed.
“Did he talk to Sophie anyway?”
“I don’t know.”
“Can you check?”
“Not tonight.”
“Why?”
“The visitor records are at school.”
“Tomorrow.”
“Yes.”
“First thing.”
“I promise.”
I almost reacted to the word.
Promise.
Instead I said, “Thank you.”
Then Karen remembered something.
“Rachel.”
“What?”
“Wait.”
I heard movement.
“I have something at home.”
“What?”
“Student artwork.”
My heart started pounding.
“At the end of the astronomy program, students made constellation projects. I kept a few because we displayed them during parent night.”
“Sophie’s?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have it?”
“I think so.”
Paper rustled.
Then Karen stopped.
“Oh.”
“What?”
“There’s writing on the back.”
My heart began pounding harder.
“Read it.”
Karen hesitated.
“It says, ‘Mr. David says my family used to count stars too.’”
Eric covered his face.
There it was.
Not a ghost.
Not reincarnation.
Not impossible memories.
A man.
A living man.
David.
“Anything else?”
“Yes.”
Karen continued.
“‘He knows Aunt Anna.’”
Eric’s head snapped up.
“What?”
Karen read:
“‘She liked yellow and had a daisy sweater.’”
I closed my eyes.
The yellow sweater.
Solved.
Sophie hadn’t somehow remembered a dead woman she never met.
David had told her.
“What else?”
Karen’s voice became quieter.
“‘He gave me a number in case I ever need family help.’”
The wrong phone number.
Anna’s old number.
Solved.
Daniel whispered, “Why would he give a child a dead phone number?”
Eric looked furious.
But this time he didn’t explode.
He asked:
“Is there more?”
Karen read the final line.
“‘He said don’t tell Mom because she’ll think it’s weird.’”
My blood went cold.
There it was.
The part I couldn’t excuse.
An adult had told my child to keep their conversations secret from me.
Daniel’s face hardened.
Eric stood.
“I want him found.”
“So do I.”
“No, Rachel.”
His voice shook.
“He told Sophie to hide this.”
“I heard.”
“What else did he tell her?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he know she was sick?”
“I don’t know.”
“Did he see her more than once?”
“I don’t know.”
Every answer was another hole.
Karen spoke softly.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Send me pictures of the project.”
“I will.”
“And tomorrow, I need every record the school can legally provide.”
“I’ll speak with administration.”
We ended the call.
Daniel sat beside me.
“At least we know.”
“Know what?”
“That Sophie wasn’t seeing Anna.”
He was right.
The woman in yellow.
The phone number.
The stars.
The treehouse language.
David had planted those details in her memory.
Then surgery and confusion had mixed them together.
The explanation was human.
And somehow that made me angrier.
At 6:15 a.m., Sophie woke.
She looked at me.
“Is today chemo?”
“Yes.”
She groaned.
“Worst Tuesday ever.”
“It’s Wednesday.”
“Even worse.”
I smiled.
Then I remembered.
I needed to ask her about David.
But not like an interrogation.
Not today.
Not before chemotherapy.
Dr. Chen agreed.
“If there is no immediate safety concern, keep the conversation simple.”
“So I shouldn’t ask?”
“You can ask whether she remembers him.”
“What if she gets upset?”
“Stop.”
“What if she says something concerning?”
“Tell the social worker.”
Marissa joined us before breakfast.
We agreed she would stay nearby.
I sat beside Sophie.
“Sweetheart?”
“Mmm?”
“Do you remember the astronomy people who came to school last year?”
Her eyes brightened slightly.
“The telescope day?”
“Yes.”
“Mr. David had the big one.”
There was no hesitation.
“You remember him?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Sometimes.”
My heart tightened.
“How many times?”
She shrugged.
“Three?”
Daniel looked away.
“Did he ever meet you outside school?”
“No.”
Relief.
“Did he ever touch you in a way that made you uncomfortable?”
“No.”
Immediate.
Certain.
Good.
“Did he ever scare you?”
Sophie thought.
“No.”
“Did he ask you to keep secrets?”
She looked guilty.
There.
“Sweetheart, you’re not in trouble.”
“He said you’d think he was strange.”
“What did he tell you?”
“That he knew Dad’s family.”
“Which dad?”
She pointed toward Eric.
Eric stood near the door.
“He said Eric had a sister named Anna.”
Eric swallowed.
“What else?”
“She liked stars.”
“Yes.”
“And yellow.”
“Yes.”
“And she had a sweater with a flower.”
The sweater.
“Did he show you a picture?”
“Yes.”
There it was.
No supernatural memory.
A photograph.
“Did you ever see that picture again?”
“He gave me one.”
“Where is it?”
“In my science folder.”
Probably at home.
“Why did you give the urgent-care clinic Anna’s phone number?”
Sophie frowned.
“Because Mr. David said it was family emergency.”
“Did he tell you whose number it was?”
“He said it used to be Anna’s.”
“Did you know Anna was dead?”
“Yes.”
That confused me.
“Then why would you give them that number?”
Sophie looked embarrassed.
“Because he said somebody still checked it.”
Eric frowned…………….
