He Asked Me to Stop Talking About My Cancer

a pharmacy bag and wearing the expression of a man who’d rehearsed concern in the car.

He stopped short when he saw Allison at the kitchen table with the blue folder open in front of her.

I was on the couch under a blanket, too tired to sit up straight for long.

“Natalie,” he said, all soft. “I got your anti-nausea prescription. They said insurance gave continue reading …