The morning I found her
It started as a tightness in her chest.
At first, she brushed it off with jokes.
“Probably the chili,” she said once, patting her collarbone. “That jalapeño was mad at me.”
But it kept happening.
She’d wince while stirring a pot. Press her palm against her ribs when she thought I wasn’t looking.
I begged her to see a doctor.
We didn’t have great insurance. Most times, it was urgent care and hope for the best. She kept saying the same thing, over and over.
“Let’s get you across that stage first. That’s the priority.”
I didn’t understand how serious it was until that morning.
It was a Thursday. I was up early because I had to present my capstone project.
