Moira flinched. She hated cursing. I gaped at Nate, surprised he’d sworn in front of her. He was a bit of a wimp when it came to his mother. In fact, I couldn’t think of any time I’d heard him be so overtly critical.

I slipped my hand into his. Two against one.

“You’re already telling people?” Nate scowled.

“Just church people.”

“That’s still people!”

Moira turned to me. “She means well,” she said. “She did the same thing when Matt had his stroke. And when we moved Matt into the nursing home, she set up a schedule so someone visited most days of the week. Okay, it didn’t change anything, but the support helped. I couldn’t have done it without her.”

I nodded, a little surprised that she was appealing to me, not Nate. When Nate and I first started dating, his whole family had welcomed me with open arms. I’d never felt more a part of a family than I had with Nate’s. Except when it came to Moira. She’d been stiff and cool, strangely judgmental since the day I met her. I knew she thought I wasn’t good enough for Nate.

Moira closed her eyes. When she spoke, her voice wobbled. “Emma, how hard will the treatment be on him?”

Nate’s and Moira’s gazes were heavy on mine. They both wanted—no, needed—my words to be positive ones. It was my job to reassure people, to help them understand and accept. Disappointing people hurt, but I knew it was even worse to hide the truth.

I thought about what my dad used to say: You don’t get to choose what cards you’re dealt any more than you get to choose who your patients are. You just gotta make those cards work for you.

I blew out a breath. “His best chance of survival is the CAR T-cell therapy, and the question isn’t how hard it’s going to be, it’s how much it’s going to cost.” I looked at Nate. “We have to find a way to get the money for that treatment.”

NATE WAS watching me with that intense, questioning look he sometimes got. He wouldn’t bring it up in front of his mother, but he wanted to question me about how I knew Dr. Palmer.

Instead, I asked him to call our neighbor and see if she could let Charlie out and feed him, then brushed my lips against his and left to grab my purse and phone from the clinic.

The hospital’s third floor, where the clinic was located, was quiet, the lights dimmed. The overhead fluorescents flickered briefly, a soft hum emanating from the bulbs.