Louis partied, slept, daydreamed. He talked about projects but never followed through. I supported him, scolded him, encouraged him. Nothing worked.
Then one day, I couldn’t ignore that persistent pain in my side. After extensive tests, I found myself sitting across from Dr. Carrel.
“I’m sorry, Julien,” he said. “The cancer is very advanced. With treatment, you might have about a year left.”
I clung to the diplomas on his wall. Harvard. Johns Hopkins. Maybe he was wrong?
“Are you sure?” I asked.
He nodded. “We double-checked everything. You should start making arrangements.”
My business was thriving. My finances were solid. But Louis… still lost in adolescence.
That night, I barely slept.
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