The Weight of a Mother’s Secret – Page 7

We drove through the night. At the cold cabin, a faint wisp of smoke rose from the chimney. Mark didn’t hesitate, breaking the door open.

We found Kayla in an armchair by a small fire, wrapped in blankets, frail and small.

“You weren’t supposed to come,” she whispered. “I wanted to make it easy.”

Mark fell to his knees, holding her. “It’s impossible without you. You don’t get to decide when we stop fighting for you.”

All resentment I’d felt vanished. My “wild card” stepsister had been carrying a burden I couldn’t imagine.

“We’re going home,” I said firmly. “We’re in this together. You are not dying alone.”