Lucie’s chest felt tight, her heart pounding so hard it hurt. She took a shaky breath and forced herself to push down the panic swirling inside. Pulling out Cody’s medical report from the children’s hospital, she read it once, then again, then a third time. The words blurred together. She wasn’t a doctor—half the terms made no sense to her.
She stood up and grabbed her phone. “Ruby, I need to head out. Cancel everything this afternoon.”
Ruby stared at her in shock. “Ms. Anderson, where are you going?”
But Lucie was already out the door, not stopping to answer. She dialed the Anderson family’s private doctor, Dr. Meza. He’d looked after her since she was a kid—he’d been with the family for thirty years and was more like an uncle than a physician.
By four in the afternoon, Lucie was standing outside Dr. Meza’s house, her nerves frayed. He opened the door and looked surprised to see her. “Ms. Anderson, you didn’t have to come all the way here. If you weren’t feeling well, you could’ve just called and I’d come to you.”
Lucie didn’t even try to make small talk. She handed him Cody’s file, her hands trembling a little. “Dr. Meza, please—can you look at this? Cody’s doctor says he has acute lymphoblastic leukemia, but… I need to know if anything looks wrong.”
Dr. Meza adjusted his glasses and opened the file. He flipped through each page slowly, reading every line, every number. The silence stretched on until Lucie’s heart was in her throat.
Finally, as he reached the last page—the bone marrow report—he paused. He frowned and tapped a line with his finger. “This percentage of immature cells doesn’t add up.”
Lucie felt a chill run through her. “What do you mean?”
He looked up at her, serious. “In cases of acute lymphoblastic leukemia, the proportion of immature lymphocytes in the blood should be above twenty percent. This report has it at three percent. There are a few other key numbers that don’t match up either.”

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