Page 50 of Fighting Chance

A bubble of laughter comes over the line.

“I’m so happy for you, Layla. Every day I prayed for a miracle like yours, and look at you, not only carrying a coffee table”—she chuckles at that—“but maintaining a job now, too. We never in a million years would have thought you’d be capable of doing so.” Her voice softens and I can practically hear the smile in it. “Give yourself some time to get used to this new version of yourself. The woman you are today is completely different to the one who flew to Berlin a year and a half ago.”

I pass the mirror mounted on the wall and stop. “You’reright,” I murmur, catching all the differences. The glow to my skin, thelifein my eyes. “I am different.”

Completely and wholly altered from the girl that put on four layers of concealer to hide the bags under her eyes. The girl that bundled herself in several layers because the cold flared up her arthritis symptoms. The girl that constantly canceled on plans and cried herself to sleep.

The strong woman staring back is nothing like the old me.

I wish I could go back and give myself a hug.

“Bella says Cindy is really nice,” I tell her.

“That’s exciting! Possibly a new friend.”

“Yeah, she thinks we’ll get along well.”

She picks up on it before I do, my deeply rooted hesitation, the fear.

“Just be yourself, sweetie. That will always be good enough.”

Exhaling, I give Emmy a big smile as she looks up at me. Like her father, I feel as if she can read every emotion on my face, so I decide to say, “Thanks, Mom. I’ll tell you all about it when I get home tonight.”

“Okay, good luck. I’ll be waiting up for you.”

“You don’t have to,” I’m quick to add.

“Nonsense, I’m excited to hear about it. I didn’t get to wait up for you often when you were growing up, so let me have this.”

Emotion clogs my throat.

This illness didn’t just steal from me. It robbed everyone around me like a greedy burglar.

“Okay, I love you.”

“I love you more.”

She ends the call, her words having warmed my heart and calmed my thoughts. When I smile at Emmy this time, the small dog figurine clutched to her chest, it’s real.

“Do you want to get the house ready for Bambi?”

Her eyes widen before she jumps to her feet, nodding her head so forcefully she almost topples over.

I chuckle at her eagerness as I lead her up the stairs to her room. “First, we have to get dressed. What do you want to wear tonight, Queen Emmy?”

Her little laugh at my nickname melts my heart. I’m quickly realizing Kieran isn’t the only one who will do anything to hear it.

Two hours later and with Emmy’s overseeing—and by overseeing, I mean pointing in directions and clapping—we’ve rearranged the loungeroom to look more like a home and less like a cluttered yard sale.

Now standing in the kitchen, Emmy beside me on a platform contraption Kieran bought for her so she can safely help with cooking, we’re covered in chocolate, the brownie batter splattered more on us than in the baking tray. I can barely see the pink floral pattern on Emmy’s dress anymore, but all the mess is worth it with the smile she’s sporting, those dimples of hers on full display and incredibly identical to her dad’s.

“We need to make doggie treats next time,” I emphasize as she licks the chocolate frosting off the spoon. “Chocolate is bad for dogs. They can’t eat it, otherwise it’ll make them very sick.”

Emmy looks down at the brownies like they’ve personally killed Bambi.

Biting the inside of my cheek, I try not to laugh. “It’s okay, Emmy, we’ll keep it high on the kitchen bench where she can’t get them.”

“Hello, hello!” I hear Bella call out.