Damien Shaw

The drive to the oncologist feels endless. Imogene is in the passenger seat, her face turned toward the window, but I know she’s not really seeing anything. She hasn’t said much since this morning, since the call. I glance at her, her hand resting limp in her lap, and the sight makes something twist painfully in my chest.

Lily is quiet in the back, strapped into her car seat, her small voice asking every now and then. I force a smile, looking at her through the rearview mirror.

“Almost there, sweetie,”

I grip the steering wheel harder, my knuckles turning white, trying to hold myself together for both...