I know he wants to tell me something.‘I found something important tonight,’ he whispers.
The oncologist examines Charlotte in his predetermined routine.
What will she become, later when she is all grown up?
We still live in a dense fog but occasionally a light shimmers through. ‘Her skin is clean,’ the oncologist says after her checkup. Charlotte lies on the exam table, her feet paddling in the air. She is in remission.’Like me, he seems to find it hard to believe. ’‘In my profession this is as close as I can give you to certainty.
I would not forgive myself if she could not walk because of this.’Slowly I turn to him.
For the first time we do not look away but stare into each other’s eyes.