Prologue

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I have always wanted to be a doctor ever since I was a little girl. I remember when I used to play doctor with my teddy bears. I'd be the doctor and my bears would be the patients. Although, I guess my dreams of becoming a doctor are on hold because now I'm the patient.

At the tender age of nine years old, I was diagnosed with Leukemia. It's worse in my case because when I was six my dad lost his year-long fight with the same illness as I. He was only thirty-two years old.

My mom and I were devastated. I always thought that I'd have my dad to protect us, to watch over us, to walk me down the aisle as I was getting married, but I guess all that can't happen anymore.

I tried everything in my power to forget my dad and his death because it put a dent in my soul remembering those traumatizing events, but the thing that still reminded me of him was a letter he gave me right before he died. He told me not to open it until I was ready. I guess that letter won't be opened because I'll never be ready.

Facing all the flashbacks would be too painful for me, so I put it out of my sight along with all the other photos and toys I had that resurfaced those memories. I'd always worry that I might share the same fate as him.

I use to believe that God would heal me from this deadly disease. For five years I asked God to heal me. My mom would even take me to healing services at church hoping I'd get healed. Nothing worked.

The doctors would always say it was getting worse, so bad that I had to be put on oxygen 24/7 at thirteen. It seemed like the more I prayed the worse my condition got, but my mom would always tell me to stay strong in faith and to keep praying, so I did... until the day I got the news on a hot Summer day from my doctor, Mr. Campbell.

"Ms. Smith I'm horribly sorry to tell you this but from what your Scans are telling me... it shows that the cancer is getting worse. It's spreading to more fatal areas in your body... I'm so sorry." I could see the pain in his eyes as he told me that.

He also said it would be a miracle if I were to make it to my eighteenth birthday, and told me to try my best to live a normal life, but how can I do that when the thoughts of dying dominated my mind?

After he had left and shut the door behind him, my mom and I were speechless. All she could do was hold me and gently sing some hymns from our church as I cried bitterly in her arms. There were no bandages for this boo boo.

Millions of things swirled through my head like if I did something wrong, or if I was getting punished. "Why?!" I let out a bitter cry toward God in my frustration. "Why am I getting punished?" I waited and waited for a response but I had no answer. So the very next day when I turned fifteen, I stopped praying, I stopped caring and I stopped... believing.

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Hey loves!! Thank you so much for taking the time to read my prologue.

This is my very first story, so I ask that you will all please bare with me. Please remember to comment, vote, and share. God Bless you all. <3333

**MY WRITING IMPROVES THE FURTHER YOU GO INTO THE BOOK. PLEASE DON'T GIVE UP ON IT BECAUSE OF THE ERRORS YOU FIND HERE AND THERE**

~Jiana

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