When chemotherapy became too much to bear, I would clutch the old photo of Liam and me until my fingers cramped. Some nights, that picture was the only thing that kept me from giving up.I went through more surgeries than I could count, some minor, some so dangerous Mom signed the consent forms with shaking hands. More than once, I was rushed into the ICU and almost did not wake up again.Every time, Mom stood beside my bed and shouted herself hoarse.“Claire, have you forgotten? You said you were going to survive. You said you’d get better, go overseas, and explain everything to Liam yourself.“You promised me. When you were well enough, you said you’d let me take you to find him. If you die now, you’ll never see him again.”It was my mother’s voice, calling Liam’s name again and again, that pulled me back from the edge more times than I could count.In the end, I still lost.And Liam had a new life now. He was about to get married.But in the last stretch of time I had left, I still
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