Peppermint, please,” Nia replied, setting his breakfast on the counter. “My mom likes peppermint tea when she comes home from her night shift.” Alas’s hands slowed as he prepared the tea. “Your mother works nights, too.” Nia nodded, accepting the steaming mug with both hands. “At the hospital, she’s a cleaning lady there, and during the day, she works at the grocery store.
” She blew carefully across the surface of her tea. She says, “Working hard is how you show love.” Something flickered across Elias’s face. Pain maybe or recognition. He turned away quickly, busying himself with unwrapping his breakfast. “That must be difficult for both of you. Sometimes I don’t see her much,” Nia admitted.
“But she always makes time for breakfast. says it’s the most important meal because it sets the tone for your whole day. She smiled, remembering her mother’s words. That’s why we make sure you get breakfast, too. The rain continued to pour outside as they sat in comfortable silence, Nia sipping her tea while Elias ate small, careful bites of toast.
The kitchen clock ticked steadily, marking the peaceful moments. When the rain finally began to ease, Elias walked near to the door. But instead of their usual goodbye, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a small white envelope. For bus money, he said softly, pressing it into her hand. “The weather’s getting colder, and you shouldn’t have to walk everywhere.
” “Oh, but I don’t mind walking.” Nia started to protest, but Elias had already closed her fingers around the envelope. “Please,” he said. “It would make an old man feel better.” After Nia left, Elias watched through his window until her small figure disappeared around the corner. Then he picked up his phone and dialed a number he knew by heart.
“James,” he said when his attorney answered, “I need you to come by tomorrow. It’s time to put things in order. He listened for a moment, then added, “Yes, all of it. And I need you to schedule that appointment at Memorial Hospital, the one we discussed.” Later that evening, Elias sat in his study, a single lamp casting yellow light across his desk.
In front of him lay a crisp white envelope from Memorial Hospital, the paper still creased from where he’d carried it in his pocket for weeks, afraid to open it. Now he smoothed it flat with trembling fingers and read the words again. Stage four, terminal, 6 months, maybe less. The diagnosis wasn’t a surprise.
He’d known something was wrong for months, but seeing it in stark medical terms made it real. Final. His hands didn’t shake anymore as he placed the reportback in its envelope. The fear that had kept him from making this decision was gone, replaced by a calm certainty. Time, which had seemed like his enemy for so many years as he searched, had suddenly become precious, limited.
But maybe, just maybe, it was enough to do what needed to be done. Outside his window, the rain had stopped. The street lights cast long shadows across his front yard, where small puddles reflected the night sky. In one of those houses down the street, a little girl who brought him breakfast every morning was probably getting ready for bed, unaware that her simple act of kindness had shifted something fundamental in the world.
Alia stood at his window for a long time, watching the water slowly drain away from the sidewalk where Nia’s footprints had been just hours before. The medical report sat on his desk behind him, its message clear and final, but for the first time in years, he felt something like peace. The afternoon sun filtered through the kitchen windows as Rochelle sorted through Nia’s backpack, checking for homework assignments and notes from teachers.
