That night, Lynn watched her daughter sleep for hours, thinking of what the future holds. Stage four cancer, the doctor had said. The final stage. Inevitable death. The doctor had given her about nine months to live. Nine months to say goodbye to her nine-year-old daughter. It wasn't fair.
In a rage, she left the room and started throwing things. Pillows, cushions, nothing that would alert her precious angel. She ranted, raged, and she cried, hard, for most of the night. She felt utterly alone. She hadn't minded before—she'd gotten used to loneliness all her life—but now, who would take care of her daughter when she was gone? And then, like a flash of light from the heavens, the answer came to her. Her father.
