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8

And I hated it.

But I had two choices. I could choose to succumb to the gnawing devastation and grief I felt every time I let myself go there, or I could face this thing head on.

As Mom and Dad walked me out of the hospital, giving me time to go at my own pace, I was somewhere in the middle. I didn’t want to let my new reality overshadow my future. But I also wasn’t ready to embrace the possibility that my memories—the last ten months of my life—were lost.

“Ashleigh?” Mom touched my arm and I blinked up at her. “The car…” She motioned to where Dad’s SUV pulled up in front of us.

At least some things were the same.

A small smile played on my lips as I climbed into the back seat.

“It’ll be good to get you home,” Mom said, glancing back at me as she buckled up. “The doctor said being in familiar surroundings might help.”

“Hailee,” Dad said, quietly.

“It’s okay, Dad. You guys don’t need to do that.” Whisper and confer as if they were plotting behind my back. I understood my diagnosis, the
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