Theodore Nott had spent his entire life taking care of his little sister.
Even as a child, when COPD and asthma made every breath a struggle, he was the one shielding her from their father's drunken rage. While their mother lay sick in bed more often than not, Theodore learned how to cook simple meals, help with homework, and sit beside his sister during thunderstorms when she was too scared to sleep.
He was only a boy himself, but he never got to be one.
Now he was nineteen, and she was sixteen.
The diagnosis came like a death sentence.
Lung cancer. Heart failure.
Theodore sat in silence while the doctor explained everything, his hand unconsciously resting over his chest. All he could think about was his sister. The little girl who used to cling to his arm whenever their father shouted. The little girl who still knocked on his bedroom door after nightmares because she trusted him to make things better.
But this was something he couldn't protect her from.
That night, he watched her from across the room as she laughed at something on television, completely unaware. For a moment, he saw every version of her at once — the frightened child hiding behind him, the girl who cried when he left for school, the teenager she was becoming.
And suddenly, Theodore couldn't breathe.
Not because of the cancer.
Not because of the heart failure.
But because for the first time in his life, he realized there might come a day when she called for her big brother, and he wouldn't be there to answer.