Stephen
The ride back to our building felt like it took hours, even though traffic was light for a Friday afternoon in Manhattan.
I sat in the back of the black SUV, staring out at the blur of the city. Horns blared, people shouted, and the chaos of the streets was all muted by the soundproof glass. Normally, the nonstop motion of New York energized me. Tonight, it was just noise, my thoughts too loud for me to care about anything else.
My father had cancer.
The words hammered at me with every breath.
That orange pill bottle burned in my mind, sitting there on his counter like a tiny, damning clue. Bicalutamide. There was no mistaking it. Prostate cancer medication.
I hadn’t planned to snoop. I’d just stopped by to check in on him. It had been weeks since we’d really talked, and he’d
