As the weeks past by, more and more letters fly out of Scarlettes' elegant little hands. Her writing and grammar are better than any 2 year old I've ever known, even developing a bit of cursive. But though her personality and attitude remains unwavered, her body is getting weaker. The chemo isn't working and Harry and I cant help but worry. Demi and Selena returned to their tours, the boys continuing with the shows without Harrys solos. Which is definately difficult for him to think about. As for me, well I've been writing a lot. No time to go to the studio so I just pour my feelings out the only way I know how. During the long hours, Harry and I have written a song together as a duet. It talks indirectly about Scarlette and what we're going through. We plan to release it after this is all over and Scarlettes' home. My stomach is killing me, ugh. What day is it? My eyes flicker to the calender hanging on the hospital wall. August 23rd. Probably my period. I groan, standing up and walking to my suitcase, slipping my bag out and walking into the adjoining bathroom. Harrys on twitter, scrolling through his mentions. Probably tweeting some hopeful lyrical note that we both know isn't true. The odds are definately against us-at least that's what the doctor said. Scarlette sits on her bed, coloring on one page while brainstorming about another letter on the other. Her hair is up in a bun, a white bow decorating it. She also has one of my tour shirts with a pink tutu on. Adorable.
"Chick fil a for lunch?"
I hear Harry say through the door. The bed shakes ferociously, creaking, apparently a nod. "Bring me some!" I call under my breath.