She looked down. “And they were hoping not to have to use it this soon.”
“Does that mean it’s too late?” Conor asked, setting the words free before he even knew what he was saying.
“No, Conor,” she answered him, quickly. “Don’t think that. It’s not too late. It’s never too late.”
“Are you sure?” She smiled again. “I believe every word I say,” she said, her voice a little stronger.
Conor remembered what the monster had said. Belief is half of healing.
He still felt like he wasn’t breathing, but the tension started to ebb a little, letting go of his stomach.
His mum saw him relax a bit, and she started rubbing the skin on his arm.
“And here’s something really interesting,” she said, her voice sounding a bit more chipper.
“You remember that tree on the hill behind our house?” Conor’s eyes went wide.
“Well, if you can believe it,” his mum continued, not noticing, “this drug is actually made from yew trees.”
“Yew trees?” Conor asked, his voice quiet. “Yeah,” his mum said.
“I read about it way back, when this all started.”
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