The morning was crisp, the air carrying the scent of damp earth and autumn leaves as Kate and Jim carefully helped Sara into the wheelchair. She was weaker than ever, her body frail beneath the blanket draped over her lap, but her eyes were clear with purpose.
"Are you sure you're up for this?" Kate asked softly, kneeling beside her.
Sara offered a small, tired smile. "I need to see her grave, Kate."
Jim swallowed hard, adjusting the wheelchair's footrests. "Then let's go."
The drive to the cemetery was quiet, each of them lost in their thoughts. Rick stayed behind with Grayson, giving them space. When they arrived, Jim and Kate wheeled Sara toward the headstone, the name Joanna Beckett etched into the smooth stone.
Sara stared at it for a long moment, her fingers gripping the edge of her blanket. "Hi, Mom," she whispered, her voice breaking. "I know we never got to meet, not really. But I wanted you to know that I love you. And I'm sorry for all the years we lost."
Kate placed a hand on Sara's shoulder, her throat too tight to speak.
Jim knelt beside the headstone, brushing away a fallen leaf. "She would have loved you, sweetheart. And she would be so proud of the woman you've become."
He paused, his voice thick with emotion. "And when my time comes, I hope you see Joanna again. I hope you'll see your adoptive mother and father, too. I imagine them all together, watching over us. Knowing you were loved by so many people."
Sara's breath hitched, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks. "I like to think they're all together already, waiting for me. That they've always been watching."
A tear slipped down Sara's cheek. "I just wish things were different."
Kate took a deep breath, blinking back her own tears. "They're with you, Sara. In the way you love Grayson. In the strength you've shown every single day."
Kate knelt beside Sara, her arm wrapped around her sister's frail shoulders. "You're not alone, Sara," she whispered. "You were never alone. And you won't be—not now, not ever." Sara leaned into her, resting her head against Kate's, silent tears slipping onto the blanket in her lap.
Sara nodded weakly, her hand reaching out to trace her mother's name. "Take care of Grayson for me, okay?"
Kate squeezed her hand tightly. "I promise."
The trip to the cemetery took a toll. That evening, Sara barely made it from the wheelchair to the bed without trembling from exhaustion. Her breathing had grown shallower, her skin paler. Kate wanted to take her to the hospital, but Sara refused.
"No hospitals, Kate," Sara whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "I just want to be home."
Kate clenched her jaw, fighting against the helplessness clawing at her. She turned to Rick, who had just arrived, concern deep in his eyes. "Can you call your doctor friend? I need someone to check on her."
Rick nodded immediately. "I'll make the call."
Rick lowered his phone after talking with his friend, exhaling slowly. He found Kate standing by the kitchen counter, gripping the edge so tightly her knuckles were white. Without a word, he stepped closer and slid his arms around her. She didn't resist. Instead, she let out a shaky breath, pressing her forehead to his chest.
"I hate this," she whispered. "I hate watching her slip away."
Rick kissed her hair. "I know. But this is part of the journey. I know it's scary but you have to hold on to the fact that you've done everything possible to let Sara know how much you love her and Grayson."
Within the hour, Dr. Mason, one of Rick's trusted friends, arrived at the apartment. He examined Sara gently, checking her vitals as she lay in bed, barely able to lift her head.
"She needs hospice care," he said quietly after stepping out into the hallway with Kate and Jim. "Her oncologist will agree—it's time to focus on keeping her comfortable. I'll arrange for a nurse and morphine to help with the pain."
Kate's hands shook as she nodded. "I don't want her to suffer."
Jim placed a steady hand on her back. "We'll make sure she doesn't."
Kate wasn't the only one keeping watch over Sara. Lanie stopped by frequently to check on Sara's condition and offer emotional support to Kate. One afternoon, as she helped adjust Sara's pillows, Lanie looked at Kate with a knowing expression.
"You're holding up, but barely," Lanie murmured. "You don't have to be strong all the time, Kate. Let people help you."
Kate sighed, running a tired hand over her face. "I don't know how to let go, Lanie. If I stop moving, if I stop taking care of her, it feels like I'm giving up."
Lanie placed a firm hand on her shoulder. "Taking care of yourself isn't giving up. It's making sure you can be there for her until the very end."
Kate swallowed hard, nodding, but the words still felt distant. She wasn't ready to step back, not yet.
Meanwhile, Martha Rodgers had made it her personal mission to lift Sara's spirits. She regaled her with dramatic Broadway stories, with exaggerated reenactments that left Sara chuckling even in exhaustion. One evening, after a particularly animated retelling of a disastrous opening night performance, Sara smiled weakly. She whispered, "Martha, I think you missed your calling as a therapist. You're the only one who can make me forget how awful I feel."
Martha pressed a theatrical hand to her chest. "Darling, I consider that the highest compliment. And you, my dear, are a fantastic audience."
Kate, watching from the doorway, let out a breath of relief. Even in the darkest moments, there was still a possibility for joy.
By the next afternoon, hospice was in place. A visiting nurse arrived, setting up morphine and making sure Sara stayed comfortable. Rick arranged for a full-time nurse to be on hand during the day, and an overnight rotation was being scheduled as the end drew near.
Through it all, they tried to bring Grayson in as much as Sara could handle. Sensing something was different, the little boy was unusually quiet when visiting his mother's bedside. He would sit beside her, clutching her fingers in his tiny hands, babbling softly as if telling her stories she would carry with her.
"Mama loves you so much," Sara would whisper, even as her energy waned.
Kate took leave from work, refusing to be anywhere but at her sister's side. She spent every waking moment caring for her, brushing her hair, helping her drink small sips of water, and holding her hand through the nights.
Kate sat on the edge of Sara's bed, rubbing at her burning eyes. She had lost track of time—days blended into nights, moments stretched into eternities of exhaustion. The ache in her back and the tension in her shoulders from holding onto too much all felt like part of her now.
But none of it mattered. Because Sara was still here. And Kate wasn't leaving her side. She was terrified to sleep, afraid that if she closed her eyes, Sara would slip away alone. So, Kate slept beside Sara, curling up on the bed, listening to her sister's breathing, clinging to every moment.
Rick, unwilling to be far, stayed in the nursery, sleeping lightly in case Kate needed him. More than once, he found her sitting at Sara's bedside in the early hours, gripping her sister's hand, tears running silently down her face.
One night, as Kate adjusted Sara's blankets, Rick entered quietly, his presence grounding her.
Rick squeezed Kate's hand, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. "Come lie down for a bit; just rest your eyes."
She shook her head. "I can't. What if—"
"I'll wake you if she needs you," Rick promised. "Just for a little while, Kate."
Kate hesitated, her entire body screaming for rest, before finally exhaling. "Fine. But just for a little while." She let Rick lead her to the couch, where he pulled a blanket around her shoulders, his presence steady beside her as she finally let herself drift for a moment of peace.
