“How’s our patient this morning?” I asked, smiling as I walked to the bed. I noticed her tray held half of her lunch, so she’d finally eaten. Her color was definitely back, even though the hospital gown and tubes sticking out of her arms made me a bit queasy.

“Better,” she said. “But I’ll never heal properly without some real food. Can you sneak in some of Allegra’s ravioli? Please?”

I laughed, tucking the flowers into one of the extra vases at her bedside table. “No. Besides, you’ll be out of here soon. The nurses say you’re looking good and they can release you once you poop.”

She groaned. “Lord save me from this humiliation.”

But I noticed her eyes sparkling again, so she was definitely improving. When we got home, she’d sat Allegra and me down and told us the truth about how she’d been feeling. On the edge of a brand-new panic attack, I’d made myself calm with some deep breathing and quickly got on the case. I got her an appointment with a well-known doctor, who referred her to a gynecologist, who did some tests, then a biopsy.

She had uterine cancer.

The last few weeks of summer passed in a blur as the doctors came up with a plan. We’d all felt lucky to hear it hadn’t advanced too far or spread, so she was scheduled for surgery and had a complete hysterectomy. At this point, it looked like they’d caught it all, and she didn’t even need radiation.

She’d gotten lucky.

We’d gotten a miracle.

Allegra and I urged her to move in with us, but she was still stubborn, wanting to stay in her home. I hired a nurse and a cleaner, but she’d already thrown a few tantrums, insisting she’d be fine on her own. Allegra mentioned she’d stay at her house for the first week to help out, and we’d made a plan to switch on and off to be with her.

“Shouldn’t you be at work?” she asked.

“I’m the boss—I can take a lunch hour,” I teased.

“How did you do with the Ackerman account?”

“Still working on him.” I smiled, loving her new effort to learn more about my business. She liked to ask pointed questions now about what ads I worked on and occasionally tried to help by jotting down ideas for me. She was actually pretty good and had a creative flair for marketing. Maybe she would’ve been drawn to the career I’d chosen.

Maybe we were much more alike than I’d originally thought.