Emma's heart raced as she sat across from Sophie at the park's dry fountain, the girl's pale face and trembling hands etched into her mind. The looping symbol on Sophie's notebook, identical to Noah's sketches and Lily's note, gnawed at her, but she pushed it aside, focusing on the girl before her. Sophie's confession—"I stopped treatment"—echoed alongside Ethan's desperate plea: "I can't fix it." The weight of their pain, so raw and real, anchored Emma in this reality, even as the edges of her world felt like they were fraying.
She drove home, the late afternoon light casting long shadows across the dashboard. Ethan's words—"You're never here, Mom"—mingled with David's warnings and Noah's cryptic mention of Paris. She gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white, determined to help Sophie, to save Ethan from his spiraling grief. The house came into view, its familiar brick facade a stark contrast to the alien homes of Lily and Noah's realities. David was in the living room, still on the phone with the lawyer, his voice a low murmur. Ethan's door was closed, music thumping faintly from within.
Emma knocked, then entered without waiting, finding Ethan sprawled on his bed, his sketchbook open to a drawing of Sophie—her beanie, her sharp cheekbones, her sad smile. He looked up, startled, and slammed the book shut. "What do you want?" he snapped, but his eyes were red, his voice raw.
"I talked to Sophie," Emma said, sitting on the edge of his bed, ignoring his glare. "She told me she stopped treatment. Ethan, we can't let her give up."
He sat up, his face twisting with anger. "You think I don't know that? I've been trying to get her to go back to the hospital, but she won't listen!" His voice cracked, and he swiped at his eyes, furious at his own tears. "She says she's tired, Mom. Tired of needles, tired of doctors. She just wants to be… normal."
Emma's chest tightened, a flood of memories—hospital corridors, charts, the beep of monitors—surging unbidden. She pushed them down, her medical instincts kicking in. "Ethan, I know it's hard, but there might be options. New treatments, clinical trials. I can talk to her doctors, her parents—"
"Her parents?" Ethan laughed, a bitter sound. "They don't even notice she's gone half the time. They're too busy throwing parties for their rich friends." He stood, pacing, his hands clenched. "I'm the only one she has, and I'm not enough."
Emma stood too, reaching for him, but he pulled away. "You are enough," she said, her voice fierce. "But you don't have to do this alone. I'm here, Ethan. I'll find a way to help her."
He stopped, his shoulders slumping, and for a moment, he was her little boy again, scared and lost. "You promise?" he asked, his voice small, echoing the same question he'd asked days ago.
"I promise," Emma said, her throat tight. She meant it, but doubt crept in—how could she help Sophie when she couldn't even hold her own reality together? Lily's leukemia, Noah's stars, that looping symbol—they were all connected, pulling her toward something she couldn't yet see.
"I need to see her medical records," Emma said, her voice steadying. "Do you know her doctor's name? Or the hospital?"
Ethan hesitated, then nodded. "She goes to St. Mary's. Dr. Larson's her oncologist. But she hasn't been there in weeks." He looked away, his voice dropping. "She says it's pointless."
Emma's heart sank, but her resolve hardened. "It's not pointless," she said. "I'll call Dr. Larson. We'll figure out what's possible." She paused, studying Ethan's face. "And you—you need to stay out of trouble. No more motorcycles, no more fights. Sophie needs you strong, not in a police station."
He nodded, his jaw tight, but his eyes held a flicker of trust. "Okay," he said, almost a whisper.
Emma left his room, her mind racing. She grabbed her phone and dialed St. Mary's, her fingers trembling as she waited for the oncology department. The receptionist's voice was clipped but professional. "Dr. Larson's with a patient. Can I take a message?"
"It's about Sophie Reynolds," Emma said, her voice urgent. "I'm… a family friend. She's stopped treatment, and I need to know her options."
There was a pause, then the receptionist's tone softened. "I'll have Dr. Larson call you back. But I can tell you Sophie's case is… complicated. She's been non-compliant for a while."
Emma's stomach twisted. Complicated. The word echoed Lily's medical form, Sophie's defiance, the hospital flashes that haunted her. She hung up, her hands shaking, and noticed a small object on the kitchen counter—a keychain, dropped from Ethan's jacket. It was a simple metal disc, engraved with that same looping symbol. Her breath caught. She'd seen it on Noah's notebook, Lily's note, Sophie's book. It wasn't just a coincidence—it was a thread, tying her children together.
David's voice broke her thoughts, calling from the living room. "Emma, the lawyer says Ethan's court date is next week. We need to talk about it."
She nodded absently, slipping the keychain into her pocket. "In a minute," she called back, her voice distant. Her mind was already elsewhere, racing toward Sophie's hospital, Lily's bruises, Noah's stars. And Paris—always Paris, looming like a promise or a threat. She had to save Sophie, to keep Ethan from breaking, but the symbol in her pocket felt like a warning: the truth was closer, and it was bigger than she could imagine.