Grace was three months old when Ral's latest scans showed the cancer had started growing again. Dr. Morrison delivered the news with practiced sympathy that didn't soften the reality."The tumor is no longer responding to treatment. It's grown approximately twenty percent in last six weeks. We can try different chemotherapy protocol, but honestly, your body has been through a lot. Quality of life versus quantity becomes real consideration now.""How long without more treatment?" Ral asked directly."Maybe three months. Possibly four if you're lucky. With aggressive new protocol, we might buy you six more months, but you'd be sick constantly. Barely able to function."Ral thought about Grace—tiny person who was just learning to smile, who wouldn't remember him if he died now, who deserved grandfather present for moments rather than grandfather suffering through treatments that bought minimal time."No more chemotherapy," he decided. "I want whatever time remains to be quality time with

Five years later, Maya sat in living room watching Grace play with blocks on carpet. Her daughter was five now—bright, curious, full of questions about everything. Today she'd asked the question Maya had been preparing for since Ral's death."Mommy, who's the man in the pictures with me when I was a baby?"Maya took deep breath, pulled out photo album she'd assembled specifically for this conversation. Pictures of Ral holding infant Grace, reading to her, sleeping with her on his chest in his final weeks."That's your grandfather. My father. His name was Ral.""Where is he?" Grace asked with innocent directness of five-year-old."He died when you were three months old. He was very sick, but he fought to stay alive long enough to meet you. You were very important to him."Grace studied photos with serious expression. "Did he love me?""More than anything," Maya replied honestly. "He fought cancer for extra months just to hold you. You gave him reason to keep trying when trying was very