Chapter 23
The next eight years were full.
Full of work.
Full of love.
Full of life.
Sophie graduated from medical school.
Top of her class again.
She did her residency at Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia.
One of the best programs in the country.
Ryan matched there too.
They bought a small row house in Center City.
They got a dog of their own—a rescue named Butter.
Sophie specialized in pediatric allergy and immunology.
Just like she’d planned since she was eleven years old.
She was amazing with the kids.
She knew exactly what they were going through.
Because she’d been them.
She’d been the seven-year-old gasping for air.
She’d been the kid left out of birthday parties.
She’d been the one who was different.
And she used that to connect.
To heal.
To help.
Her patients adored her.
Their parents adored her.
She was already making a name for herself in the field.
Publishing papers.
Speaking at conferences.
Just like her mom.
I was so proud I could burst.
My business kept growing too.
We now had offices in ten cities.
Fifty employees.
We’d helped over ten thousand schools and restaurants become allergy-safe.
I’d written two more books.
I was on the board of three national allergy organizations.
Tom and I were still happily married.
Fifteen years now.
Still best friends.
Still lovers.
Still partners in everything.
We’d sold the big house when Sophie left for college.
Bought a smaller place downtown.
Easier to maintain.
Closer to the office.
We had a rooftop deck with a view of the city.
We spent most evenings up there.
Drinking wine.
Watching the sunset.
Talking about our days.
Talking about the future.
Jessica and Maya were still our best friends.
They’d adopted two little girls.
Twins.
Now eight years old.
With peanut allergies, ironically.
Sophie was their doctor.
Full circle again.
Daniel and Lisa were still together.
Happy.
Retired now.
They spent half the year in Texas and half in Florida.
Daniel still came to every family event.
Every birthday.
Every holiday.
He and Tom had become good friends.
Golf buddies.
It was strange and wonderful.
Linda and Mark were doing well.
Their boys were in college.
Marnie was eighty now.
Still sharp as a tack.
Still the matriarch of the family.
We all got together at least once a month.
Big family dinners.
Loud.
Chaotic.
Full of laughter and love.
Everything I’d ever wanted.
When Sophie turned thirty, she and Ryan had their first child.
A little girl.
They named her Sarah.
After me.
I cried for three days when they told me.
My granddaughter.
Named after me.
Little Sarah was perfect.
Ten fingers.
Ten toes.
Dark hair just like her mother’s.
And when they tested her, the doctors gave us the best news of all.
No peanut allergy.
No food allergies at all.
The cycle was broken.
My daughter had almost died because of a peanut allergy.
Her daughter would never know that fear.
Never know what it’s like to have to ask before you eat anything.
Never know what it’s like to carry an EpiPen everywhere you go.
She would just be a kid.
Free.
Safe.
Loved.
I held her in my arms for the first time.
And I promised her.
“I will always protect you,” I whispered. “Just like I protected your mommy. No one will ever hurt you. Not ever. Not on my watch.”
She looked up at me with her big blue eyes.
And she smiled.
I knew then that everything had been worth it.
Every tear.
Every sleepless night.
Every court battle.
Every moment of fear.
It had all led to this.
To this perfect, beautiful, innocent little girl.
Who would grow up safe.
May you like
And loved.
And free.
