The day before a holiday meant for gratitude becomes the day you fight for everything you have to be grateful for.
The week leading up to Thanksgiving passed in a blur of preparations and mounting anxiety.
Sarah had pre-op appointments every other day—blood work, EKG, consultations with the anesthesiologist. Ethan went to every single one, missing classes, rearranging shifts, falling further behind on assignments he no longer had the mental energy to care about.
Vanessa became a constant presence in their lives.
She helped Lily with homework while Ethan was at the hospital with their mother. She brought groceries when she noticed the fridge was getting empty. She sat with Sarah during the long pre-op appointments, making conversation about nothing important, just filling the anxious silence.
She didn't make a big deal about any of it. She just showed up.
"You don't have to keep doing this," Ethan told her on Monday evening as they walked back from the hospital.
"I know I don't have to. I want to."
"But your classes—"
"I'm managing. Stop trying to push me away."
"I'm not—"
"Yes, you are. You keep giving me outs. Reminding me I don't have to be here. Telling me I'm doing too much." Vanessa stopped walking and turned to face him. "I'm here because I love you. Because your family is important to you, which makes them important to me. So stop trying to protect me from this and let me help."
Ethan pulled her into his arms. "I'm sorry. You're right."
"I know I'm right." She hugged him back. "Now stop being noble and let me be here for you."
Tuesday morning—the day of the surgery—arrived with freezing rain.
Ethan woke at 4 AM, his alarm unnecessary. He'd barely slept, his mind too active, his body too wired with nervous energy.
He got up and found his mother already awake, sitting at the kitchen table in the dark.
"Couldn't sleep either?" he asked.
"No. Turns out knowing someone's going to cut you open in a few hours isn't great for rest." She tried to smile, but it didn't reach her eyes.
Ethan sat beside her. "How are you feeling?"
"Terrified. But ready." Sarah took a shaky breath. "I just want this to be over. The waiting is the worst part."
"It will be. By tonight, the tumor will be gone."
"And then we start chemo." She laughed bitterly. "Trading one nightmare for another."
"But it's temporary. By March, you'll be done. Healthy again."
"If everything goes according to plan."
"It will."
"You don't know that."
"No. But I choose to believe it anyway."
Sarah looked at him, her eyes shining with tears. "When did you get so strong?"
"I learned from the strongest person I know."
She pulled him into a hug, holding on like he was the only solid thing in her crumbling world.
Lily emerged from her room at 5 AM, already dressed.
"Morning," she said quietly.
"Morning, baby," Sarah said. "You didn't have to get up so early."
"Yes, I did. I'm coming to the hospital."
"Lily, you have school—"
"I'm not going to school. Not today." Lily's voice was firm. "I'm coming to the hospital and I'm staying until you're out of surgery. Don't argue with me."
Sarah looked at Ethan.
He shrugged. "She gets her stubborn streak from you."
"Fine. You can come. But you're bringing homework."
"Deal."
Vanessa met them at the hospital at 6 AM, holding a bag of bagels and a carrier with four coffees.
"Figured everyone would be too nervous to eat," she said. "But you should try anyway."
They sat in the pre-op waiting area, forcing down bagels that tasted like sawdust, drinking coffee that didn't help with the exhaustion.
At 6:30, a nurse called Sarah's name.
They all stood.
The nurse led them to a curtained area where Sarah changed into a hospital gown. An IV was started. Vital signs were checked. A surgeon Ethan had never met—Dr. Morrison's surgical partner, Dr. Chen—came by to introduce herself and explain the procedure one more time.
"We'll make three small incisions," Dr. Chen said, marking Sarah's abdomen with a surgical pen. "Insert the laparoscope and instruments through these ports. Remove the tumor and any surrounding tissue that looks concerning. The whole thing should take about ninety minutes."
"And recovery?" Sarah asked.
"You'll be in recovery for about two hours post-op. If everything looks good, you'll go home this afternoon. Most patients are back to light activities within a week, fully recovered in two to three weeks."
"And then chemo."
"And then chemo," Dr. Chen confirmed. "But one step at a time. Let's get through today first."
At 7:45, an orderly arrived to wheel Sarah to the OR.
"This is it," Sarah said, looking at Ethan and Lily. "I'll see you in a few hours."
Lily was crying. "I love you, Mom."
"I love you too, baby. So much." Sarah pulled her into a hug. "Be strong for me, okay?"
"Okay."
Sarah turned to Ethan. "Take care of your sister."
"Always."
"And Ethan?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you. For everything. For being exactly the son I needed." Her voice broke. "I'm so proud of you."
Ethan couldn't speak. He just hugged her, trying to memorize the feeling, the smell of her shampoo, the sound of her heartbeat.
When he pulled back, his face was wet with tears.
The orderly began wheeling Sarah toward the OR.
She looked back once, raised her hand in a small wave.
And then she was gone through the double doors.
The surgical waiting room was torture.
Ethan paced. Lily sat curled in a chair, headphones in, pretending to do homework but just staring at the same page. Vanessa texted her father, declining yet another invitation to come home for Thanksgiving.
Gregory: Are you sure? Your mother is asking for you.
Vanessa: I'm sure. I'm needed here.
Gregory: I understand. We'll miss you. Give our best to Ethan and his family.
Vanessa: I will. Thank you, Dad.
At 9:30, Ethan's phone rang. Danny from Harlow's.
"Hey, kid. I know you've got a lot going on, but I need to ask—can you work tonight? We're slammed with Thanksgiving Eve and I'm short-staffed."
Ethan closed his eyes. "Danny, my mom is in surgery right now. I can't—"
"Shit. I'm sorry, I forgot. How's she doing?"
"We're still waiting. She's been in for about ninety minutes."
"Take all the time you need. Forget I called."
"I need the hours, Danny. The medical bills—"
"I said forget it. Family comes first." Danny's voice was firm. "When things settle down, we'll figure out your schedule. But today? You stay with your mom. That's an order."
"Thanks, Danny."
"Don't thank me. Just take care of your family."
The call ended.
Vanessa looked at him. "Everything okay?"
"Yeah. Danny needed someone for tonight but told me to stay here."
"Good. Because you're not going anywhere."
At 10:15, a nurse appeared.
"Family of Sarah Cross?"
They all jumped up.
"Is she okay?" Ethan asked.
"She's fine. Surgery went very well. Dr. Chen will be out shortly to talk to you, but I wanted to let you know she's in recovery and doing great."
The relief was so intense Ethan's knees almost buckled.
Lily burst into tears. Vanessa wrapped an arm around her.
"Can we see her?" Ethan asked.
"In about an hour once she's fully awake. Dr. Chen will come get you."
Dr. Chen appeared twenty minutes later, still in surgical scrubs, a tired but satisfied smile on her face.
"The surgery went beautifully," she said. "We removed the entire tumor with clear margins—that means we got all the visible cancer. I also removed some surrounding tissue and a few lymph nodes for testing, but everything looked clean."
"So you got it all?" Ethan asked.
"We got everything we could see. That's why the chemotherapy is important—to eliminate any microscopic cells that might remain." Dr. Chen pulled out her tablet, showing them images. "See here? This was the tumor. Small, localized, hadn't invaded any major structures. And this is after removal—clean, healthy tissue."
"When can we see her?" Lily asked.
"She's awake now. A little groggy, but asking for you. Follow me."
They walked through the recovery ward to a curtained area.
Sarah was propped up in bed, pale but smiling, an oxygen cannula in her nose, monitors beeping steadily.
"Hi," she said, her voice hoarse.
Lily ran to her side. "Mom!"
"Careful, baby. I'm a little sore." But Sarah wrapped her arms around Lily anyway. "I'm okay. I'm here."
Ethan moved to her other side, taking her hand. "How do you feel?"
"Like someone just did laparoscopic surgery on me. So, not great. But alive." She squeezed his hand. "Dr. Chen said it went well?"
"She said it went beautifully. Got the whole tumor with clear margins."
"That's good. That's really good." Sarah's eyes filled with tears. "We did it. Step one is done."
"Step one is done," Ethan echoed.
Vanessa hung back, giving them space, but Sarah noticed.
"Vanessa, get over here. You're part of this family now."
Vanessa approached, and Sarah reached for her hand too.
"Thank you," Sarah said. "For being here. For taking care of my kids when I couldn't."
"You're welcome, Mrs. Cross. But you don't have to thank me."
"Yes, I do." Sarah's voice was thick with emotion. "You could be with your own family right now. Instead, you're here. In a hospital. On the day before Thanksgiving. That's—" She stopped, overwhelmed. "That's love. Real love."
Vanessa looked at Ethan, tears in her eyes. "Yeah. It is."
Sarah was released at 4 PM with strict instructions to rest, take pain medication as needed, and follow up in a week.
They took a taxi home—Ethan had saved some money for emergencies, and this qualified.
Lily had cleaned the apartment while they were gone, and someone—Ethan suspected Vanessa—had arranged for a small Thanksgiving meal to be delivered. Nothing fancy, just turkey sandwiches, mashed potatoes, and pie. But it was something.
They ate on the couch, Sarah propped up with pillows, Lily curled against her side, Ethan and Vanessa on the floor with plates balanced on their laps.
"This is the weirdest Thanksgiving Eve I've ever had," Lily said.
"Agreed," Sarah said. "But I'm grateful anyway."
"For what?"
"For being alive. For having you two. For the fact that the surgery went well." Sarah looked at Vanessa. "For the fact that my son found someone who loves him enough to sit in a hospital on a holiday."
Vanessa smiled. "I'm grateful too. For all of you."
"What about you, Ethan?" Sarah asked. "What are you grateful for?"
Ethan looked around the small apartment—at his mother, recovering but here. At his sister, safe and loved. At Vanessa, who'd chosen to stay when she could have left.
"This," he said simply. "All of this. Even the hard parts. Because we're together."
"Even the hard parts," Sarah repeated. "I like that."
They finished their meal in comfortable silence, and for a few hours, the fear receded.
The surgery was done. The tumor was gone.
Tomorrow was Thanksgiving.
And they were all still here.
For now, that was enough.