Izabel’s mother used to tell her that cancer was the most absurd thing about the time they lived in. That it was so deadly that it would kill countless people that they knew, and yet the inevitably of its cure was so clear, “to anyone worth anything,” she’d say. “A disease like that can’t go unsolved forever.”

She’d describe a time when no one would die of cancer. When pediatric oncology wards would be distant memories and talked about like rooms of iron lungs and children’s misshapen legs. “If anyone can’t see that, it’s a failure of their imagination.” It was only a question of what would cure it—medicine, nanobots, stem cells, a virus.

“And then the budget comes out,” she’d say, “and it’s two hundred billion dollars toward the wars. Cancer continues.”

Izabel wondered if her mother would like to see how it had turned out. That the incidence of cancer was lower, without cigarettes, with better food and water. But that it still killed people. That in this new world, cancer might have enough funding, but not enough scientists. That everything looked completely different all around her, like someone shook the world like a snow globe and said, Rebuild—but they left cancer in the mix.

Izabel imagined Cancer Alleys all over the world. And she wondered, would she always daydream about the apocalyptic worlds that the old world thought it was plummeting toward?

Cami yelled from the bathroom.

“What is it?” Izabel yelled back.

“I need help.”

“You pooped?”

“Yeah.”

Izabel put the tablet down. In the bathroom, she leaned Cami into her knees and wiped Cami’s butt. Then she put butt cream over where she’d wiped. She lifted Cami off the toilet.

Cami pulled up her pants and ran out of the room.

“Don’t you need to wash your hands?”

“I didn’t touch anything!” Cami yelled back.

“Truth,” Izabel said to herself as she washed her own hands. She looked at herself in the mirror—the scratch was scabbing over. And she was glad for the mark it made, that she didn’t look the same as she had the night before. That her reflection suggested, if only slightly, that she was a changed woman.

On the couch again, Izabel fell asleep. She didn’t wake up until Kaito got back. Cami yelled, “Daddy!” and ran to him for a hug. Andy and the girls had been having dinner at Andy’s table.

Izabel sat up.

“Mommy!” Cami said and ran over to her for a hug, too.

“I thought you’d sleep through anything,” Andy said. “The girls and I got my office set up for you all like a guest room.”

“Thank you,” Kaito said. “I’m going to put my things down.”

“I’ll follow you,” Izabel said. She nudged Cami back toward the table.