When the countdown begins, every normal moment becomes precious—because you know the hard ones are coming.
December arrived like a held breath.
The first two weeks passed in a blur of finals, shifts at Harlow's, and quiet preparations for what was coming. Sarah spent her days resting, building up her strength for the chemotherapy. Lily decorated the apartment for Christmas—small things, a string of lights around the window, a tiny tree from the dollar store with mismatched ornaments.
"It's not much," she said, stepping back to admire her work.
"It's perfect," Sarah said from the couch.
Ethan watched his sister arrange the ornaments with careful precision, her tongue poking out in concentration, and felt something crack in his chest.
Lily shouldn't have to think about cancer and chemotherapy and hospital visits. She should be worrying about college applications and crushes and normal sixteen-year-old things.
But this was their life. And they didn't get to choose it.
Finals week was brutal.
Ethan had four exams in five days—Computer Science, Economics, Statistics, and English Literature. He studied whenever he wasn't working or helping at home, his textbooks and laptop becoming permanent fixtures at the kitchen table.
Vanessa helped where she could. She'd show up at the apartment with food—cheap but nutritious meals she'd prepared in her dorm kitchen. Rice and beans, pasta with vegetables, soups that lasted three days.
"You didn't have to do this," Ethan said on Tuesday evening, watching her set containers in the fridge.
"I know. But your mom needs to eat well before chemo, and you and Lily are too busy to cook properly." She closed the fridge. "Besides, it's kind of relaxing. Cooking, I mean. My grandmother taught me before she passed."
"You never mentioned your grandmother."
"She was the one real family member who loved me unconditionally." Vanessa's voice softened. "She didn't care about money or status. Just whether I was happy."
"She sounds amazing."
"She was. She would've loved you, by the way."
"Yeah?"
"Absolutely. She always said the best kind of love was the quiet kind. The kind that shows up without being asked." Vanessa smiled. "That's you."
Ethan pulled her close. "I love you."
"I love you too. Now go study. You've got two exams tomorrow."
Computer Science final was on Wednesday morning.
Ethan sat in the exam hall, surrounded by hundreds of students, staring at the paper in front of him.
The questions were difficult but familiar. Algorithm design, complexity analysis, coding problems that required creative thinking. His mind slipped into the focused state it always did when he coded—everything else falling away, the world shrinking to just the problem in front of him.
For ninety minutes, he didn't think about his mother's cancer or Vanessa's mother or the internship application or the mounting medical bills.
He just coded.
When the exam was over and he walked out into the cold December afternoon, Vanessa was waiting outside the building.
"How was it?" she asked.
"Good, I think. The last problem was tricky, but I figured it out."
"You always figure it out." She linked her arm through his. "Coffee?"
"Always."
They walked to Brew Haven, their usual corner booth waiting for them as if it had been reserved.
"Two more exams," Ethan said, wrapping his hands around his coffee cup. "Then it's over."
"And then what?"
"Then I focus on the internship application. Finish the essays, gather recommendations. Make sure everything's submitted before January 15th."
"And your mom's first chemo session."
"December 18th." Ethan stared into his coffee. "Six days."
"How are you feeling about it?"
"Terrified. For her, mostly. I remember how sick she was last time."
"This time is different though. She's healthier going in. And they caught it early."
"I know. But the chemo is still going to be brutal."
Vanessa reached across the table and took his hand. "We'll get through it. Together."
"Together," Ethan repeated. The word felt like an anchor.
Friday afternoon, Ethan submitted his internship application.
He'd spent the past week agonizing over the essays—the personal statement, the technical questions, the section about his motivations and goals. Professor Nguyen had reviewed everything twice, offering suggestions and encouragement.
The recommendation letter was already submitted. Nguyen had emailed him a copy, and Ethan had read it three times, surprised and humbled by the words.
Ethan Cross is one of the most exceptional students I have taught in my twenty-year career. His technical abilities are remarkable, but what truly sets him apart is his character. Despite facing extraordinary personal challenges—supporting a sick family member while maintaining a near-perfect GPA and working part-time—Ethan never complains, never makes excuses, and never compromises on quality. He is exactly the kind of young man this internship was designed for.
Ethan had stared at those words for a long time.
Extraordinary personal challenges.
That was one way to put it.
He hit the submit button at 4:47 PM on Friday afternoon, then closed his laptop and sat in the kitchen, feeling oddly empty.
It was done. The application was out there. Now he waited.
His phone buzzed. Vanessa.
Vanessa: Did you submit it?
Ethan: Just did.
Vanessa: How do you feel?
Ethan: Like I just jumped off a cliff and I'm waiting to see if there's water below.
Vanessa: There's water. I promise. And I'll be right there to pull you out if you need it.
Despite everything, Ethan smiled.
Saturday was the last normal day before everything changed.
Ethan spent the morning at the community center, helping Miguel and the other kids with their coding projects. It was the first time he'd been there in weeks, and the kids swarmed him the moment he walked in.
"Ethan! You're back!"
"Where were you?"
"Miguel said you were sick—"
"I wasn't sick." He laughed, ruffling Miguel's hair. "Just busy. Finals and family stuff."
"Family stuff?" Miguel's eyes were wide. "Like what?"
"My mom's been having some health issues. But she's getting better." The lie came easily. He didn't want to burden these kids with his problems.
"Is she okay?" Miguel asked, his expression suddenly serious.
"She's going to be. She's really strong."
"My mom says strong people are the ones who keep going even when it's hard."
"Your mom's a wise woman."
"I know." Miguel grinned. "Can you help me with this loop? It keeps running infinitely and I don't know why."
Ethan sat down beside him, and for two hours, the world was simple again.
Code. Problems to solve. Kids who looked up to him with admiration and trust.
It was the closest thing to peace he'd felt in weeks.
That evening, Vanessa came over for dinner.
Sarah had insisted on cooking—a simple pasta with homemade sauce that filled the small apartment with the smell of garlic and tomatoes.
"Mom, you should be resting," Ethan said when he found her at the stove.
"I've been resting for two weeks. I need to do something normal." She stirred the sauce with practiced ease. "Besides, I want tonight to be special."
"Why?"
Sarah looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "Because after tomorrow, things are going to be difficult for a while. And I want us to have this one perfect night before everything gets hard."
Ethan's throat tightened. "Mom—"
"Don't argue with me. Just let me cook."
Dinner was quiet and warm.
Vanessa complimented the sauce three times, making Sarah beam with pride. Lily told stories about her chemistry class that had everyone laughing. Ethan watched his family around the small table—his mother, his sister, the woman he loved—and felt something deep and aching settle in his chest.
This was what he was fighting for.
This was what the internship, the sacrifices, the exhausting juggling act was all about.
These people. This life. Imperfect and struggling but full of love.
After dinner, Lily disappeared to her room to do homework. Sarah retreated to the couch, already tired from the effort of cooking.
Ethan and Vanessa washed the dishes together, working in comfortable silence, shoulders bumping in the small kitchen.
"Your mom made the most incredible sauce," Vanessa said.
"Family recipe. Her grandmother's."
"Maybe she'll teach me someday."
"She'd love that." Ethan handed her the last clean plate. "Vanessa?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For tonight. For everything this week. For just—being here."
"You keep thanking me."
"Because I keep meaning it."
She set down the plate and turned to face him. "Ethan, I need to say something."
"Okay."
"Tomorrow is going to be really hard. Your mom is going to be scared, and you're going to be scared, and Lily is going to be scared. And it's okay to be scared. But I need you to know that I'm going to be here through all of it. Every chemo session. Every bad day. Every moment when it feels like too much." She cupped his face. "I'm not going anywhere. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Good." She kissed him—soft and steady and full of quiet promise. "Now let's go sit with your mom before she falls asleep on the couch."
They moved to the living room, where Sarah was already dozing, a half-finished cup of tea on the coffee table.
Lily had put on Christmas music—soft and gentle, barely audible.
Ethan sat on the floor, his back against the couch, Vanessa beside him.
He closed his eyes and listened.
Outside, December wind rattled the windows.
Inside, for one last perfect night, everything was warm and whole and safe.
Tomorrow, the fight would begin.
But tonight, they had this.
And it was enough.