“Oh,” she whispered. “You came.”
I dropped my bag. Every word I’d practiced vanished.
“What… what happened?” I managed.
She smiled, the same old smile. “Cancer. Stage four. They found it late.”
“How long?” I asked, already knowing I didn’t want the answer.
“Long enough,” she said gently.
I fell to my knees. A doctor who could explain diseases to strangers, suddenly unable to breathe in front of his own sister.
“I’m sorry,” I choked. “I didn’t know. I didn’t mean—”
“I know,” she said. “You were always in a hurry to become someone.”
Tears blurred my vision.
“I should’ve taken care of you,” I said. “Like you did for me.”
She reached for my hand, her grip weak but steady.
“You did,” she said. “You became who you were meant to be. That was my dream too.”
She passed away two weeks later.
At her small funeral, I learned the truth: she’d turned down help, scholarships, even treatment options—so I could finish school without debt. Every “easy road” I accused her of taking had been paved with sacrifice.
I still wear my white coat.
But every time I do, I remember who lifted me high enough to reach it.
Note: This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events. Names, characters, and details have been altered. Any resemblance is coincidental. The author and publisher disclaim accuracy, liability, and responsibility for interpretations or reliance. All images are for illustration purposes only
