Chapter 31

THEN:

Sarah"s fingersdrummed a staccato rhythm on the leather armrest, her gaze never leaving Victoria. The little girl, with curls as wild as her spirit, was nestled among a fortress of colorful blocks on the carpet, her laughter the sweetest melody in the otherwise silent room.

"Look, Mommy, a castle!" Victoria"s voice chimed, her small hands placing the last block atop her creation.

"Beautiful, just like you," Sarah responded, attempting a smile that didn"t quite reach her eyes. The worry lines etched on her forehead betrayed her constant vigilance.

Suddenly, Victoria"s laughter hitched—a sharp, jarring sound—and her body stiffened. Blocks clattered to the ground as she fell sideways, her tiny frame shaking uncontrollably.

"Victoria!" Sarah was on the floor instantly, her heart racing, her body trembling with fear. "Baby, stay with me."

"Mom-m-mmy…" Victoria"s voice was a ghost of a whisper between convulsions.

"I"m here, darling. I"m here." Sarah cradled her daughter"s head, her hands gentle yet firm, cushioning it from the hard floor. Memories of hospital corridors, white walls, and solemn nodding doctors flooded her mind. They had warned her—the seizures would come again.

"Shh… It"s going to pass." Sarah"s words were a mantra, a lifeline thrown into the chaotic sea of helplessness that threatened to drown her. She fought back tears, not knowing what to do but trying her best to remain calm.

The door hinges creaked, a soft murmur in the tense silence. Steven"s shadow fell over them before he knelt, his presence a stark contrast against the chaos of moments ago. He reached out with steady hands, taking their daughter away from Sarah, cradling Victoria"s shivering form.

"Hey, little warrior," he whispered, his voice a gentle balm. "Ride it out. You"re doing great."

Sarah"s fingers uncurled from Victoria"s shirt, retreating as Steven took over. She watched, feeling a pang of helplessness as her husband"s calm seemed to weave an invisible shield around their daughter.

"Is it easing up?" Sarah asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Almost there," Steven nodded, eyes locked on Victoria"s face, reading every subtle shift of her features.

A heavy breath escaped Sarah as she observed Victoria"s body relax, inch by inch. There was an art to Steven"s touch, a silent communication that seemed to reach their daughter in depths Sarah longed to fathom.

"Mommy?" Victoria"s voice was faint, laden with exhaustion.

"Right here, baby," Sarah leaned close, brushing a tissue across Victoria"s sweat-dampened forehead. Her heart clenched at the sight of her daughter so fragile and spent. How she missed her daughter's hair and longed to take that bandana off.

"Did I do good?" Victoria"s eyes fluttered open, a glimmer of her usual spark buried beneath the weariness.

"The best," Sarah smiled, the lie tasting sweet because it was for her.

"Can I sleep now?"

"Of course, sweetheart," Steven assured her, his arm secure beneath her head.

Sarah rose with them, her legs stiff, her mind whirring. Should they have adjusted her medication? Was there a specialist they hadn"t consulted, a stone left unturned?

"Steven, should we?—?"

"Let"s get her comfortable first," he interjected, understanding the unsaid. "We"ll talk after."

Sarah nodded, biting back the torrent of questions. She watched them go, Steven"s strength carrying their daughter with ease she envied. The room felt emptier and quieter, leaving Sarah with nothing but the echoes of her own racing thoughts.

The door clicked shut, a soft seal on the silence that flooded the living room. Sarah"s fingers twitched at her sides as she began to pace, each step a silent drumbeat in time with her heart. The scent of lavender from Victoria"s clothes still lingered, a bittersweet note in the air.

Her mind careened from one possibility to another—genetics, diet, environmental factors? What demon had lodged itself into her daughter"s life, turning bright days dark with its shadow? It was the treatments, Steven had said—the chemo that she was getting. But was there really nothing they could do to make it easier on her?

"Could be anything," she muttered, her voice barely a whisper against the stillness. "But there has to be something."

She halted, eyes drawn to the laptop perched on the coffee table like a beacon. With a decisive stride, she claimed her seat before it, the keys cool beneath her fingertips as she snapped the device to life.

"Okay, let"s see what you"ve got," she whispered, her gaze fixed on the glowing screen.

"Seizures in children… cancer… chemo, how to treat…." She typed, her hands steady despite the tremor in her resolve. Links bloomed across the page, a garden of information and potential solutions.

"Come on; come on," she urged, clicking through medical journals filled with jargon that twisted her tongue, forums where other parents spilled their fears and findings. Sarah soaked up every word, every theory. Lots of children with cancer were getting chemo, but none of them spoke of seizures.

That's odd.

"Nothing?" she questioned the screen, frustration simmering. "There has to be more…."

She looked up seizures in children.

"Metabolic disorders, neurological conditions…" she read aloud, trying to find a foothold in the landslide of possibilities.

"Talk to me, Victoria," she whispered into the quiet, imagining her daughter"s bright eyes and eager nod. "Tell me what"s wrong."

The cursor blinked back at her, patient and unyielding, as she navigated the labyrinth of symptoms and syndromes, a digital detective hunting for the clue that would unlock this mystery.

"Genetic markers? No, that"s not it." Her fingers churned through pages and pages, the click of the mouse a staccato against the silence. "Epilepsy? But the tests were inconclusive, Steven said."

She leaned closer to the screen as if proximity could wring clarity from chaos. "Environmental factors?" she murmured, squinting at a study on toxins. "But we live so clean."

"Contradictions everywhere," Sarah spat out, the words like acid. She pushed her hair back, a gesture of exasperation.

"Medication side effects?" Her voice rose, tinged with hope, then faltered.

"Damn it!" The laptop shook under the slam of her palm, a physical echo of her inner turmoil.

"Someone must know something." Her plea fell flat in the room, no one there to catch it.

"Could it be diet-related?" Her eyes darted through forums, each parent"s account more varied than the last. "No gluten, dairy-free, sugarless… We"ve tried all that!"

"Useless!" She pushed away from the table, her chair grating on the floor. "It"s like searching for a needle in a haystack made of needles."

"Victoria…" Her eyes welled up as she stared at the little girl"s picture on the wall. "I"m trying, baby, I"m trying."

"Wait, what"s this?" A new tab caught her eye, a glimmer of a different perspective. "An experimental trial?" Her pulse quickened; they weren't ready for that.

"Back to square one." She slumped forward, forehead resting against the cool surface of the desk. "I need answers, not riddles."

Steven came in with a deep sigh. "She's asleep now. I have the camera set up so we can keep an eye on her." He exhaled and rubbed his forehead. "That was a rough one. They seem to be getting worse."

"I can't find anything about seizures and chemo," Sarah said. "Are you sure it's not something else causing this?"

Steven grunted. "Look who's the expert now. I spoke to the doctor at the hospital when she had her first seizure, remember? The next day, when you had to go to work. I was in his office and talked to him. He said it was a side effect. I don't understand why you're suddenly questioning this?"

Sarah looked at her fingers. The comment about her going to work the next day hit her hard. She had to go in for the important meeting. Steven had even encouraged her to do so and told her he had this and that Victoria was in good hands. One of them had to make money, especially with the medical bills piling up.

"It's just… there are a lot of parents writing about this stuff, and no one is mentioning seizures, and if you Google it, then…."

"Different patients have different reactions to chemo; it's hard to generalize. There are always a few people who have very unusual reactions to any drug. Besides, I remember seeing it before when I was still working at the hospital. Trust me. I know what I'm doing. Didn't you have a meeting to prepare for? Some presentation?"

Sarah looked at him, then nodded. "Y-yeah. I guess I better get on that."