Emma's eyes snapped open to the unfamiliar ceiling, the crack snaking across the plaster pulling her back to Lily's reality. Her heart raced, Sophie's pale face and Ethan's desperate promise—"I'll do anything to save her"—still vivid, mingling with Noah's cryptic stars and that looping symbol etched on the keychain in her pocket. The room smelled of lavender, the blue velvet curtains heavy against the morning light, but the weight of Lily's bruises and her medical form—Acute lymphoblastic leukemia, in remission—pressed harder. Emma turned, finding David beside her, his steady breathing a tether in this shifting world. She slipped out of bed, her bare feet cold on the tile, driven by the need to reach Lily, to understand the girl who felt so much like her daughter yet so distant.
The house was quiet, Lily's bedroom door closed. Emma knocked softly, then entered, finding the room empty, the bed unmade, the gray hoodie slung over a chair. The medical books she'd seen yesterday—Pediatric Oncology, Cancer Care Basics—were still on the desk, their pages dog-eared, her own handwritten notes staring back like ghosts. Her chest tightened. Lily's leukemia, Sophie's relapse, the hospital flashes that haunted her—they were connected, not just by the looping symbol but by a pain she couldn't name.
She headed downstairs, finding David in the kitchen, sipping coffee, his face weary. "Lily's already gone," he said before she could ask, his voice low. "She left early. Said something about a school project."
Emma's stomach twisted. "She's avoiding me," she said, sinking into a chair. "David, I saw her medical records. She had leukemia. Why didn't you tell me?"
David's eyes widened, his mug pausing halfway to his mouth. "Emma, you knew about that," he said, his voice gentle but strained. "Lily's been in remission for years. You were there through it all—the hospital, the treatments. You've just… been forgetting things lately."
"Forgetting?" Emma's voice cracked, her hands trembling. "No, David, I don't remember any of it. I remember Ethan, Noah, not Lily's hospital stays. I'm losing my mind, and you're acting like it's normal!"
David set his mug down, his face softening. "Emma, there's no Ethan or Noah. It's just Lily. You've been talking about these other kids for weeks, and it's… it's breaking my heart." He reached for her hand, but she pulled back, her pulse racing.
"No," she said, standing, her voice rising. "They're real. I was just with Ethan, trying to save his girlfriend. Noah's drawing stars, talking about Paris. And Lily—she's hiding something, David. Those bruises, the medical books—she's scared, and I need to help her."
David's expression hardened, a rare flash of frustration. "Emma, you're scaring her. She's already struggling at school, and you're making it worse with these… fantasies. Focus on Lily, please."
The words hit like a blow, but Emma's resolve didn't waver. She grabbed her coat—the red wool one from yesterday—and headed out, ignoring David's protests. Lily's note—"Stay strong, Lily. You're not alone. —E."—was still in her pocket, alongside the keychain with the looping symbol. She needed to find Lily, to confront her about the books, the bruises, the note. The school was her best bet.
The high school was a squat brick building, its halls buzzing with students. Emma found the principal's office, her heart pounding as she explained her concern—Lily's fights, her bruises, her secrecy. The principal, a tired-looking woman named Ms. Harper, sighed, pulling up Lily's file.
"She's been in trouble lately," Ms. Harper said, her voice matter-of-fact. "Fights, mostly. She's got a tough exterior, but the other kids target her. They know about her… history."
"Her leukemia," Emma said, her voice low, testing the word.
Ms. Harper nodded. "Exactly. Kids can be cruel. They call her 'Cancer Girl,' spread rumors. She lashes out, and it's a cycle." She paused, her eyes softening. "You've been through a lot with her, Mrs. Carter. I'm surprised you're not more involved."
Emma's throat tightened, the accusation—however unintentional—cutting deep. "I'm trying," she said, her voice breaking. "Where is she now?"
"Probably the library," Ms. Harper said. "She hides there when things get rough."
Emma thanked her and hurried to the library, a quiet room lined with sagging shelves. Lily was in the corner, hunched over a table, a medical book open in front of her. Her hoodie was pulled up, but Emma saw the fresh bruise on her cheek, faint but unmistakable. Her heart sank.
"Lily," Emma said, approaching slowly, her voice soft. "We need to talk."
Lily's head snapped up, her eyes flashing with anger. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, slamming the book shut. "I don't need you spying on me!"
"I'm not spying," Emma said, sitting across from her. "I'm worried. Your bruises, these books—what's going on? Are you sick again?"
Lily's face paled, her hands clutching the book. "I'm fine," she said, her voice trembling. "I just… I like reading them, okay? It's not a big deal."
"It is a big deal," Emma said, leaning closer. "I know about your leukemia, Lily. I saw your medical form. And I know you're scared. Let me help."
Lily's eyes filled with tears, but she blinked them away, her jaw tight. "You don't get it," she said, her voice low. "I'm not scared for me. I'm scared it'll come back, and I'll be… weak again. I can't do that to Dad. Or you." She looked away, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Not after everything."
Emma's heart broke, the weight of Lily's fear mirroring Ethan's desperation, Sophie's defiance. She reached for Lily's hand, and this time, Lily didn't pull away. "You're not weak," Emma said, her voice fierce. "You're strong, Lily. And I'm here, no matter what."
Lily nodded, her shoulders trembling, but before she could speak, Emma's gaze fell to the book Lily had been reading. Tucked inside was a folded medical record, its edges worn. Emma's breath caught as she pulled it out, recognizing her own handwriting on the cover: Lily Carter, Patient ID 4723. The same looping symbol was scrawled in the corner, like a signature.
"Lily," Emma said, her voice shaking, "where did you get this?"
Lily's eyes widened, and she snatched the record back, her face paling. "It's mine," she said, her voice barely audible. "I… I found it in your office."
"My office?" Emma repeated, her mind spinning. She didn't have an office, not here, not in Ethan's reality or Noah's. But the symbol, the handwriting—it was hers, unmistakable. And somewhere, deep in her memory, a hospital room flickered, a girl's voice whispering: "Stay strong."
Lily stood, shoving the record into her backpack. "I have to go," she said, her voice breaking, and bolted for the door, leaving Emma with the echo of her words and a truth that felt closer than ever: Lily wasn't just her daughter—she was a piece of a past Emma had to reclaim.