Chapter 1: first shadows

The sunlight that filtered through the lace curtains this morning felt softer than usual, a gentle gold that dappled the wooden floors of their cozy kitchen. Abigail sat at the small round table, the steam curling lazily from her cup of tea. She watched it rise and twist as if it were alive, a tiny, ghostly dancer. Her hands wrapped around the warm mug, and for a moment, she let herself just exist, enjoying the calm.

“Morning, Abby,” came her aunt’s voice, light but carrying a note that set Abigail on alert. It wasn’t the usual cheerful drawl she’d grown accustomed to. “Did you sleep well?”

Abigail looked up from her cup. “I… think so. You?” Her voice carried an edge of uncertainty.

Her aunt, Lila, smiled faintly but there was something in her eyes—a fleeting shadow—that Abigail couldn’t quite place. “I’m fine. Stayed up a little late last night reading, that’s all.” She reached for the sugar jar but paused, fingers trembling slightly. Abigail noticed, her heart tightening.

“You sound…different,” Abigail said gently. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Lila waved her off, her hand brushing the tremor away as if it were nothing. “I’m fine, really. Nothing to worry about. Maybe I just need a little more rest.”

Abigail wanted to press, to ask more, but she hesitated. She had always been protective of her aunt, but Lila, in turn, shielded her from worry. Abigail hated the idea of causing more stress. “Okay… if you say so,” she said softly.

Breakfast unfolded in their usual rhythm, yet there was a subtle tension lingering between the laughter and clinking of spoons. Lila poured herself a cup of tea and sipped carefully, glancing at Abigail with a faint, wistful smile. “Do you remember last week when we tried making those cinnamon rolls?” she asked, her voice almost teasing.

Abigail smiled, trying to match the lightness. “How could I forget? The kitchen looked like a flour storm had hit it.”

“And you…well, you may have been trying to eat half the dough raw,” Lila added, laughing gently. Her eyes flicked down at her cup, betraying a quiet fatigue Abigail had not noticed before.

“You were going to eat it too,” Abigail countered with a grin. “I just got to it faster.”

The small banter eased some of the tension, and Abigail felt her chest unclench just a little. Lila always had a way of making life feel safe, even when it wobbled underneath.

After breakfast, Lila asked Abigail to sit with her at the kitchen table, her hands folding neatly in her lap. “Abby… there’s something I need to tell you,” she said, her voice quiet now, serious. Abigail noticed the gravity, her tea untouched, warming on the table.

Her heart skipped. “What is it?”

Lila took a deep breath, fingers gripping the edge of the table. “The doctors… they found something. It’s… cancer. Lung cancer.”

The words hit Abigail like a physical blow. The warmth of the morning sun felt suddenly distant, irrelevant. “C…cancer?” she stammered, her hands clenching her own mug as if it could anchor her in reality.

“Yes,” Lila said softly, eyes steady on Abigail. “They caught it a little late. Treatment will be…hard. But we’ll face it together. We always face things together, right?”

Abigail felt tears sting her eyes. “Of course…we’ll…we’ll get through this. I’ll be there. I promise.”

Her aunt reached across, squeezing Abigail’s hands gently. “I know you will. You’re my strength, Abby, even when I’m weak.”

The next few days were a mix of small routines and growing tension. Lila began resting more often, walking slowly, coughing quietly into tissues she hid from Abigail when she thought her niece wasn’t watching. Abigail shadowed her around the house, preparing meals, tidying, making tea, and trying to distract her with stories and laughter.

One morning, Abigail found her aunt trying to knead dough for bread. Her hands shook more than usual, flour dusting the countertop and floor.

“You’re trembling,” Abigail said gently, stepping closer. “Let me help.”

“I’m fine,” Lila said with a faint smile. “Just…a little tired today.” She tried to steady her hands, but Abigail could see the weariness, the subtle signs of weakness her aunt never spoke aloud.

“Tomorrow we’ll bake together, and you rest,” Abigail insisted, her voice firm. “I’ll handle it today.”

Lila looked at her with a mix of affection and pride. “You’re so grown up, Abby. You know that? Even when you think you’re not.”

Abigail’s lips quivered as she swallowed hard. “I’m scared,” she admitted softly. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Lila pulled her close, brushing a strand of hair from her face. “I know, sweetheart. I’m scared too. But we’ll get through this together. That’s what family does.”

In the following days, Abigail and her aunt clung to routines. They painted together—Abigail copying a rose from the garden, Lila attempting a sunflower that leaned at strange angles. Flour, paint, and laughter covered the small house, temporary shields against the reality lurking outside.

One afternoon, Abigail suggested they go for a short walk. “We can sit in the park, just for a while,” she said. “Sunshine, fresh air, maybe feed the birds.”

Lila nodded, though she leaned on Abigail’s arm more heavily than usual. “That sounds perfect. Lead the way.”

The walk was slow, but the sun warmed their faces, and Abigail felt, for the briefest moments, that the world hadn’t shifted yet. They fed pigeons, laughed at a dog chasing its tail, and shared stories of childhood mischief. Every smile, every touch, was etched into Abigail’s memory.

Back at home, Abigail noticed Lila’s breath was a little shallower as she settled on the couch. “You’re tired,” Abigail said, worry sharpening her tone.

“I am,” Lila admitted. “But it’s alright. Just…a little rest. I’m okay.”

Abigail knelt beside her, holding her hand. “I hate that I can’t make it better.”

“You make it better,” Lila said softly. “Every day. Just by being you. By loving me. That’s enough.”

That evening, after helping Lila get settled in her chair by the fireplace, Abigail lingered in the living room, tracing the edges of the sketches they had done earlier. She noticed the slight shakiness in her aunt’s hand when she signed her name on a card. She felt a pang of helplessness.

Her aunt noticed her gaze. “Abby, stop worrying so much. I’m still here. We still have time…even if it’s shorter than we hoped.”

Abigail nodded, swallowing the lump in her throat. “I know. I just…don’t want to imagine a day without you.”

Lila reached out, brushing Abigail’s hair back. “You don’t have to. Focus on today. On the laughter, the baking, the stories. That’s what matters.”

As night fell, Abigail lay in bed, the locket her aunt had given her clutched tightly in her hand. She thought about their conversations, their laughter, the small ways her aunt’s presence had always been a tether in her life. And though fear gnawed at her, there was also warmth—a fragile, precious warmth that she intended to hold onto, no matter what came next.