Seraphina's Point Of View
The decision didn't arrive with a dramatic lightning strike or a sudden burst of tears. It came on a random Tuesday morning while I stared at a piece of burnt toast, realizing my body had become a ticking time bomb and I was entirely tired of waiting for the countdown to hit zero.
The char marks on the bread seemed to mirror the darkness spreading through my cells. I was ready for the treatment. I had to be.
But telling my parents? That was a completely different brand of suicide.
If my mother discovered her perfect, fragile little girl was actively rotting from the inside out, she'd have a nervous breakdown before the first chemo drip even touched my veins. I could already picture her face… the way her carefully applied makeup would streak with tears, how her hands would tremble as she reached for her anxiety medication.
