“We’re not sure what your trajectory is going to be. There are only a handful of known cases in people so young.”

“Can you answer the question? Am I going to die from this?” That loud voice, so rude.

Kwana didn’t take offense. “We can’t make any predictions. Especially in your case, since you’re not even thirty.”

“No predictions except that I’ll die?” she squeaked.

“She will not die from this,” Josh said, his voice hoarse and fierce, and for a second, hope leaped in Lauren’s heart. She was married to a certified genius who just happened to make medical devices. He would figure this out in a matter of weeks, Kwana.

“This is a lot to process,” Dr. Bennett said. “I recommend that you stay off Google and just read the literature in this packet.”

“Why?” Lauren’s voice was hard and loud.

“Because you should get your information from experts in the field,” she said, handing over a folder. “Trust me.”

She didn’t remember leaving the building or getting into the car, but she must have, because Josh was driving, and they were gripping each other’s hands, hard. Lauren stared out the window, vaguely registering the familiar sites—the Big Blue Bug, Rhode Island’s most famous resident. The capitol dome, the Superman building—so called because in the old television show, Superman had jumped over it, making Providence famous. There was Kennedy Plaza, the old Brown and Sharpe building. They pulled onto their street, into the parking lot, got out and walked into the building in silence, still clutching hands. She started toward the stairs, then walked through the lobby instead and pushed the button for the elevator.

The stairs would leave her breathless.

Tears gathered in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

The second they walked into the apartment, they both went to the couch and opened their laptops, almost exactly in sync, the only sounds their fingers on the keyboard.

Yeah, so Googling wasn’t a great idea. She had to give Dr. Bennett credit for that.

The prognosis for a person with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis was three to five years. Life post–lung transplant, so long as there were no complications, could last as long as five years. But lung transplants were tricky.

So, best-case scenario, Lauren might live to see forty.

But probably not.

She felt dizzy. Was this a dream? Was this whole life a dream, with her wonderful husband and all their happiness, their beautiful apartment, the honeymoon, the trip to Paris? Would she wake up in her childhood bed, groggy and confused, Dad still alive?