I haven't smiled, a true, sincere smile, in months. Since I was diagnosed, to be more precise. Every time something starts to amuse me, I remember I'm dying. And nothing should amuse you when you're dying.

But one day, when I'm down in the ER, I see her with a kid. A cute, little boy with a broken arm. She's fixing his cast and talking to him. Something she says makes him giggle, and she giggles back.

As I watch the two of them, before I can stop them, before I can even notice, I feel my lips curving upwards.