Chapter 7 - The Spring Visit
By the time March break arrived, the bitter Pittsburgh winter had finally begun to loosen its grip, yielding to watery sunshine and melting slush. Cole had booked his bus ticket home weeks in advance, counting down the days on a sticky note pasted to his dorm room mirror.
When he walked through our front door on a Friday afternoon, he didn't look like the stressed, exhausted boy who had shaved his head in our bathroom back in October. He looked taller, more grounded, carrying himself with the quiet confidence of someone who had tested his limits and found he could stand upright under the weight.
Iris was already in the kitchen helping me prep dinner when the front door swung open.
"I'm home!" Cole called out, dropping his heavy duffel bag right by the entryway—violating every rule I had ever set about hallway clutter, but today, I didn't care.
Iris dropped the wooden spoon she was holding and ran into the hallway. Cole caught her mid-stride, swinging her around in a tight circle before setting her gently back down on her feet. They kissed—not with the desperate, frantic energy of past months, but with the steady, joyful certainty of two people who knew they had weathered the worst storm of their lives and come out intact.
"You smell like bus station coffee and cold metal," Iris teased, burying her face against his shoulder.
"That's the authentic aroma of collegiate engineering," Cole grinned, kissing the top of her head—where her dark hair was now growing in thick, soft waves that framed her face beautifully. No beanie. No scarf. Just Iris, looking healthier and more radiant than she had in over a year.
That weekend felt like a celebration of everything they had fought for. On Saturday afternoon, the four of us—Cole, Iris, her mother, and I—went out for lunch at a local diner, the same place where Cole and Iris had gone on their very first official date two years earlier.
Over plates of burgers and fries, Iris pulled a folded piece of paper from her purse and slid it across the table toward Cole.
"What's this?" he asked, picking it up.
"My college acceptance letter," she said, beaming with pride. "State University, main campus. Starting this fall."
Cole stared at the paper, his eyes widening in shock before a massive grin spread across his face. "State U? That's... that's only forty minutes away from Pittsburgh!"
"Convenient, right?" Iris laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I figured if you were going to be stubborn enough to move out there for engineering, I might as well major in graphic design at a campus close enough that you can't use distance as an excuse to miss our weekend study dates."
May you like
Cole reached across the table, grabbing her hand and squeezing it tightly. "Forty minutes. That's practically next door in college terms."
I sat across from them, sipping my iced tea, feeling a profound wave of warmth wash over me. The terrifying detour that cancer had forced into their lives hadn't derailed their future; instead, it had forged an unbreakable bond, teaching them how to communicate, how to share burdens without breaking under them, and how to love each other not out of desperate obligation, but out of genuine, mutual strength.
